


Cemetery Sentiments

by FanFictionIsMyWeakness



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking, Unfaithfulness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFictionIsMyWeakness/pseuds/FanFictionIsMyWeakness
Summary: Had Roger never been around, perhaps Simon would have been able to love the man he was supposed to marry, to have a nice wedding and settle down in the suburbs with an adoptive child or two from a foreign land. And yet, by just a touch -just a look- from this other man, this forbidden man, Simon could feel the burning desire course through his veins. He could feel the excitement rise in his body and take over his mind, clouding his judgement and making him act without any thought. And he wasn't happy, not necessarily, but he was enjoying life, enjoying his partner, and that sort of excitement and sick pleasure was something he could never experience from the man he was to marry. Sucks to morals, after all.





	1. Lying is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be titled after the song it's inspired by, just as a heads up

If he were to be entirely honest, Simon wasn't sure when the affair had started. It seemed as though Roger had always been at his side, since the beginning of his engagement, his relationship, his life. As though Roger's presence had always been a part of Simon's day and that the adrenaline rush he got by the trickery and the lies only fueled Simon's want, desire, burning passion for the other man. The man that shouldn't have been his in the first place. The man that shouldn't have stepped into his life at all. Things would have been a hell of a lot less complicated that way. Had Roger never been around, perhaps Simon would have been able to love the man he was supposed to marry, to have a nice wedding and settle down in the suburbs with an adoptive child or two from a foreign land.

 

And yet, by just a touch -just a look- from this other man, this forbidden man, Simon could feel the burning desire course through his veins. He could feel the excitement rise in his body and take over his mind, clouding his judgement and making him act without any thought. And he wasn't happy, not necessarily, but he was enjoying life, enjoying his partner, and that sort of excitement and sick pleasure was something he could never experience from the man he was to marry. Sucks to morals, after all.

 

* * *

 

He never meant to end up in this place, to hold a drink tightly in his palm as pulsing music blasted through the room. Everything was dark and hot and crowded and beams of colorful florescent lights moved without any particular pattern around the open space. Upon a slightly elevated marble floor, which covered the majority of the room, were crowds of drunk adults shamelessly grinding on each other or messily flailing their limbs every which way. Simon's hand tightened around his drink, a fruity thing that he couldn't quite remember the name of, but it was the sort of drink that came with a bright red straw and a little yellow umbrella. He brought the straw up to his lips, sipping ever so lightly at the beverage as he continued to keep his gaze fixated on the dance floor.

 

The words flashed through his head, suddenly reliving the tension of that moment. He could see the rage in his fiance's eyes, the utter despair about something that Simon considered to be oh so small. He was frustrated, he had a bad day and scolding Simon was the only way he could release all his built up anger. And scold Simon he did, from everything including the messy state of the flat, all the way to the bills that were never paid. And perhaps it was Simon's job to take care of those things and he had neglected his responsibilities, but he didn't appreciate the scolding, like he was a little boy who had done something naughty. He left, made a point to storm out of their shared apartment and slam the door behind him, immediately going to the first place he could find that served copious amounts of alcohol. He hadn't intended to get drunk, but to consume just enough alcohol to numb the frustration. He just needed to calm down, is all. Once he managed to tame his nerves he would return home to his loving partner, who would gladly give him the world. Simon knew that, he was fully aware of how much he meant to his fiance and he wasn't going to leave because of one little fight. Things of this nature happened occasionally and they'd make up as soon as Simon returned home.

 

But he wasn't ready for that quite yet. He didn't want to hear the apologies and lay next to that man for the rest of the night. He didn't want to be trapped in an embrace and held until he couldn't breath. He didn't want to forgive, not until he was ready. So he stayed, taking small sips of his beverage until the glass was completely empty. And still he did not wish to return home, so he turned back to the bar and asked for another drink. Any sort of unholy concoction that would leave him numb.

 

“May I have another?” Simon asked, to which the bartender raised a brow at him, mouth twitching into an amused sort of smirk. The little diamond stud going through his lip caught the dim light, making the jewel shimmer in a mesmerizing sort of way.

 

He nodded without saying a word, the hints of a smirk fading from his face. He took his eyes off Simon for a moment, just enough time to fix him a fourth cocktail and set it on the bar before his smirk returned. Simon quirked a brow at him, tempted to ask what was so amusing as he snatched his drink off the granite counter top. He twisted in his seat, the top of the stool rotating with his movement as he tried to avert his eyes from the other man's piercing stare. His eyes were gray, tinted like cigarette ashes, but they danced with specks of gold that seemed to light his entire appearance on fire. His gaze, although amused, held an intensity to it that made Simon squirm in discomfort. He was average in height at best, but towered above Simon, who was built to be small and thin like a child. Finally, the other man spoke, his voice gruff and low like sandpaper scratched at his vocal chords and Simon realized that he had been at this bar for roughly an hour and he had yet to hear the man speak.

 

“What's eating away at you?” For a moment, Simon was completely dumb founded at the question, and he stared at the man in front of him, mouth hanging open slightly as those gray eyes pierced into him. He took a sip of his drink before answering, the sweet fruity flavor masking the burn of vodka.

 

“My domestic life is in shambles, I suppose.” He answered, making the smirk on the bartender's face grow just a bit wider. Simon wasn't sure he wanted to talk about this sort of thing with a complete stranger, especially not one so intimidating, but he couldn't help the word vomit that spilled from his voice box. It had been a long time since he'd been able to talk about this sort of thing and he realized that it was bothering him a lot more than he let himself believe. He was quiet in nature, not good with his words or expressing his feelings. People made him nervous and he always had a difficult time expressing his thoughts without stuttering. So he ceased to talk about what was wrong, the things that were burning holes in the back of his mind as he tried his best to suppress any and all feeling. He thumbed the rim of his glass, staring at the liquid inside, his brow creased in concentration. When he looked back up at the bartender, the other man's smirk had completely faded and was replaced with an expression that was impossible to read. He nodded, as if giving Simon the proper queue to go on with his story.

 

“I guess I just never figured I'd be engaged at twenty-two, especially not with-” He cut himself off, brows knitting in frustration as he searched for the right word. He didn't really know _how_ to put his feelings toward his fiance into words. He had a few descriptions trapped in his head, just a few choice words that would eat him up with guilt if he ever said them out loud. “Not with someone so _boring_.” He decided on, immediately getting hit with a wave nausea just for saying such things. He looked back up at the man in front of him, feeling the beginnings of tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He laughed bitterly, suddenly feeling angry with himself for being so ungrateful, so uncaring. “You must think I'm a shitty person, for being so ungrateful toward someone who loves me.” He wasn't expecting the other man to smirk and shake his head, which caught Simon off guard.

 

“I've heard worse.” The man stated, the fact simple and firm. Simon looked back at his drink, sipping down the rest of it in one go. He watched as the liquid sank closer and closer to the bottom of the glass. He pushed the empty glass away from him, staring at the little yellow umbrella as it slipped off the edge and fell to the bottom. The bartender snatched the glass from the counter, wiping it down with a damp washcloth. Simon couldn't break his gaze away from the other man's hands as he worked. Everything inch of skin on him was sickly pallid, almost to the point were it held a grayish hue, and his hands were no exception. It looked as though those two hands had been through hell and back with scabbed over knuckles, bruises covering fingers, and dry cracks in snowy skin. They were nimble with long, thin fingers that looked to be almost skeletal, paired with callous covered pads.

 

When the bartender's gaze met with Simon's, he quirked a brow at the smaller boy, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smirk. Slowly, he placed the glass and washcloth down, not breaking eye contact with Simon as he did so. His gray eyes, although cold and piercing, sparkled with a twisted sort of amusement that made Simon's shoulders tense with a mix of panic and anticipation. He couldn't break his eyes away, noticing that his breathing had gotten heavier and something in his sternum had tightened. It wasn't the most unusual occurrence for Simon to experience a wave of discomfort around new people, but the discomfort didn't typically transformed itself into full blown anxiety. He reflected on whether or not the tightening in his chest was due to an on coming panic attack or something else entirely, but whatever the reason Simon couldn't seem to calm his nerves as the bartender continued to stare at him in that sort of way.

 

“Do people often come to you with their domestic problems?” Simon asked, no real sense of sass or sarcasm in his words, but instead a genuine curiosity. The man in front of him shrugged, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he braced his hands on the counter.

 

“People drink when they want to drown out their troubles and sad, drunk people love to talk.” Slowly, he lifted his hands from the counter and crouched behind the bar. Simon could hear the distinct sound of glasses clinking together and when the man came back up, he was holding a bottle of fireball whiskey and a shot glass. Simon watched as the orange liquid spilled into the glass and the taller man brought the beverage up to his lips. “Personally,” He said, setting the glass down with a loud _clink_. “I prefer cigarettes over alcohol, but I have a hard time turning down a glass of fireball.” Simon continued to stare at the now empty shot glass, eyes wide with disbelief.

 

“Aren't you not supposed to drink on the job?” He asked, somewhat bewildered that he had just witnessed such a break of the rules. The man grinned, toothy and wild. In his eyes was a glint of mischief that sent shivers up Simon's spine.

 

“Not if I don't get caught.” He said, pouring himself a second shot of fireball. Simon had never been one for whiskey. He could barely handle alcohol as it was and the strength and scorchingly bitter sensation of the whiskey traveling down his throat had always been a bit too much for him to handle. He preferred fruity mixed drinks that were generally ordered by women and masked any sort of alcoholic flavor that had been added to the concoction. Then there was the issue of witnessing someone drink on the job. Simon didn't work. His fiance preferred that he stayed home to tend to of their flat and he made enough money to cover the bills, so Simon never bothered to go out looking for a job. He worked a bit during his years in school, mostly as a way to pay for going out with his friends and dates with his boyfriend at the time, fiance now. He considered himself a fairly decent worker, always showing up on time and getting his tasks done without a hitch, so seeing someone not follow the rules of their work place left a bitter taste in the back of his throat. “Tell me more about your fiance.” The bartender said, pulling Simon out of his thoughts.

 

“There's not a lot to tell.” He stated, glancing down at his hands. “I guess we have the typical story, the kind of thing people read in shitty romance novels and other pandering garbage that likes to tell people how perfect relationships are supposed to work.”

 

“I take it you're not a romantic then?” The other man observed. Simon shrugged, locking eyes with him and being met with gray intensity and an amused sort of smirk.

 

“Maybe I would be if I were with the right person, but I've only ever been with him. We met during school and I suppose I only liked him because he liked me.” The bartender raised his brow, leaning back ever so slightly.

 

“He?” the bartender asked, the thin line of his lips pressing together in thought. He repeated the word, this time his voice sounding more dreamy and lost in thought. “He.” He stated once again, the word no longer a question, but more of a statement. Simon nodded, feeling his face erupt in flames. Mentally, the smaller boy kicked himself for not being careful enough, for letting this stranger know he was of the queer variety. He braced himself for the cruel backlash and the homophobic slurs, but none of that ever came. Instead, Simon watched as the corner of the other man's lips twitched up and he let out a small scoff. Simon quirked his head to the side ever so slightly, wondering what was so amusing about his sexuality. The man behind the bar ran his teeth over his bottom lip, his gaze on Simon having shifted completely, transitioning from amused and smug to almost predatory. He felt his head spin, the effects of the alcohol finally hitting him as he tried not to read too much into the look in the other man's eyes.

 

“I should,” Simon started, his breath hitching before he could finish his sentence. He moistened his lips, not breaking his gaze away from the other man's intense gray eyes. He swallowed dryly and tried to speak again. “I should go home.” He said, holding no real meaning to his words. Both of them knew Simon had no intentions of leaving, of bothering to run back to his lover's arms and find himself in a spiraling pit of unhappiness once again, but morally, he knew he needed to leave or else he'd be sucked in to a succubus's curse. It became clear to Simon that, in his drunken state, he couldn't help but be drawn to the man in front of him, finding the intense gray eyes to be a little too easy to get lost in and the pale, nimble fingers mesmerizing. He focused on the other's lips, thin and pale like the rest of him, and Simon couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if he pressed those lips against his own. He shook himself, shame clouding his mind just for having such thoughts. He couldn't be that person, the kind to cheat on their partner, regardless of how disinterested he was in the relationship.

 

“My fiance,” Simon said, trying to redirect his thoughts back to the man he was to marry. “He's probably getting worried about me. I wouldn't want to upset him.” He was no longer talking to the bar tender, but more to himself in an attempt to talk himself out of doing something regrettable. It was beginning to work. The more Simon spoke, the easier it became for him to convince himself to go back to his apartment. That was until four words ruined everything.

 

“My shift's almost over.” The bartender said, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly. Simon felt his breath hitch in his throat, knowing it was all over now. There was no way he could convince himself to go home, back to the one he didn't love, because the offer proposed in front of him was far too intriguing. “Maybe you could stay a bit longer.” It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. There was no way Simon could get himself to leave now, not with the adrenaline pulsing through his veins and making his hands quiver. He glance behind his shoulder, eyes meeting the bar's exit as he realized that there was no leaving. Other than the nervous tremor traveling under his skin, he couldn't force his body to move, couldn't stand from his place a top the bar stool.

 

“I would, but I walked out on my  _fiance_ ,” He tried to put emphasis on the fact that he was engaged, that his partner was loving and loyal and only wanted the best life for them. The bartender's eyes only seemed to glint more with a spark of mischief and amusement that made butterflies turn in Simon's stomach. “after a big fight and I wouldn't want him to think something bad happened.” the bartender raised his brows, the smirk plastered on his face only seeming to grow.

 

“But wouldn't you like it if something _bad_ were to happen?” He asked, making the breath catch in Simon's throat.

 

“I can't,” He paused, taking a moment to contemplate what was about to come out of his mouth. He can't _what_? Run off and never look back? End things with the man he doesn't love? Get the experience he never had the chance for, to hook up with a complete stranger, no strings attached? Think about his own happiness? Because he _can_ , he's perfectly capable to do as he pleases, allowed to leave his fiance and finally feel free. And maybe it's time he starts thinking about himself for once, maybe it's time he puts himself before anyone else. Yet, he can't help the guilt overtaking him, causing a wave of sick to crash into the pit of his stomach. The image of his fiance's hurt face sticks in his mind and part of him wants to run home and hug the other man. He doesn't want to be that person. He can't be that person. “I should get home.” His legs twitched, preparing to stand from his place at the bar and head out the door. His fingers curled into the loose fabric of his jeans, grabbing the denim in fist fulls to try and tame the quivering in his palms.

 

“But you don't love him.” The man in front of him stated, cocking his head to the side. He raised his brows expectedly. “Do you?”

 

“No.” Simon said, quiet and ashamed. He stood from his place, beginning to turn away and head for the door. “But I can't hurt him.”

 

“Sounds more like he's hurting you.” Simon paused, frozen in his place as a dozen scenarios flashed through his mind. “I'm going to clock out.” The bartender said. “I hope you're still here when I come back.” And still, Simon didn't turn around to face the bar, to eye the granite counter tops and watch as the man walked away. But he didn't move, didn't take a step closer to the exit, didn't allow the thought of his fiance to cross his mind. He'd made his decision.

 

Roger was the name he went by, Simon came to find out after the other man returned. Roger was the sort of name that the smaller boy wouldn't have thought much of in the past- the type of run of the mill title that couldn't possibly have left an imprint on his mind. And yet, it sparked a heart racing feeling just underneath the surface of Simon's sternum that caused his breath to hitch.

 

The duo ended up walking to Roger's apartment, which he claimed was only a few blocks away. It was the middle of autumn and a crisp wind rippled through the air, leaving goose bumps pricking at Simon's dark skin. He pulled his sweat shirt closer, a gray, oversized article that was lined on the interior with soft, velvety fleece. The coolness of the season bared no effect on Roger, who had refrained from wearing a jacket, or even bothered to roll down the sleeves of his button up. Simon wasn't entirely sure how late it was, but the night sky was dark, with only the light of street lamps and a few moon beams peaking out between the clouds to guide them. It wasn't the busiest of streets, with only a few cars passing them every so often, which allowed Simon to become immersed in the sounds of Roger's shoes hitting the pavement.

 

“Is this a regular thing for you?” Simon asked, breaking the silence. Roger glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, but he didn't verbally respond. “Seducing your customers, I mean.” He clarified, causing a smile to slit Roger's face.

 

“Not really,” He said, the gruffness in his voice still some how managing to make Simon shiver. “I'm picky about the people I choose to sleep with.”

 

“And do you generally choose the engaged ones?” Simon asked, a dust of pink spreading across his dark cheeks. The joints in Roger's shoulder's tensed, his expression hardening. His eyes roamed toward Simon, intense enough to give the small boy shivers.

 

“I generally choose the unhappy ones.” Simon paused, his feet suddenly glued to the cement underneath them. He watched Roger pause too, muscles tense with the slightest beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips.

 

“I'm perfectly content with my choices.” Simon said, his expression hardening as his brows drew together. Roger glanced at him, mouth twitching up just a bit more.

 

“Mm,” He hummed, eyes traveling up to the sky, glued to the stars. “What does that word mean to you?” He asked, not bothering to focus on Simon. “Because it seems to me that whenever someone describes themselves as content, there's usually a sense of happiness and satisfaction, and you're such a fucking mess of anxiety that I'm surprised he haven't put a gun to your head yet.” Simon paused, the words ringing in his ears. He swallowed, the sound reverberating through the night.

 

“Of course I'm happy.” He lied, face flushing red. Roger turned to him, dark brows lifted in faux surprise.

 

“Then why are you here with me?” He asked. Simon's gaze dropped to the ground, nails digging into his palms. He drew in a deep breath, searching for the right words.

 

“I'm just a little bored, is all. He's the only person I've ever _been_ with.” Simon sighed, glancing up to lock eyes with Roger. “In any sense of the word.” He managed to stutter out. The other man pressed his lips together into a thin line, eyes seeming to look straight through Simon. He began walking again, shoving his hands into he jeans pockets. Neither of them said another word, Roger seemingly lost in thought and Simon too busy staring at the the other man to part his lips.

 

Simon felt relief wash over him once they reached Roger's apartment building, giving them the opportunity to escape from the cold. It was a tall structure, with too many stories to count. Windows lined the outside, some lit brightly and covered by various colors of curtains. Roger opened the front door, stepping aside to let Simon through. Inside, the building's lobby was nothing special. Mail slots lined the walls and a single elevator stood off to the very right of the room. There was a front desk, but no one stood behind it, and a large clock hanging above a blank wall. Roger escorted him toward the lift, pushing slightly at the small of his back, making him stumble just a bit into the opening doors. The ride up, Simon couldn't stop catching sideways glances at the other, transfixed on those intimidating gray eyes that refused to meet his. They didn't touch or kiss or even bother talking, but rather quietly stepped off the lift and began descending the corridor toward Roger's flat.

 

“Home sweet home,” Roger mumbled once they were greeted with a large oak door, the numbers _486_ scrawled across the top in bold, black lettering. He pushed the door open, a loud creak resonating against the walls and showing off a pitch black interior. He groped around for the light switch for what seemed like far too long before finally switching on a dim lamp in the corner of the sitting area. There wasn't much inside, aside from a small, black leather couch, a beaten down coffee table, and a television that seemed to have come from before their time, with two rabbit ear antennas sticking up and a small, pixelated screen that was still turned on to show black and white static. Underneath their feet was no carpet, but rather dusty hard wood flooring, with worn down panels and cracked age spots in the crevices. A single window had been placed far away from the rest of Roger's things, with long, white drapes framing the boarder. The glass had been left cracked open just a bit, making the wind rustle the material.

 

Simon absentmindedly ran his fingers along the white plaster walls, skin lightly pressed down, just barely touching. He slid his over sized jumper off his shoulders, watching as the material hit the floor. He was hit with the sharp cold of Roger's apartment suddenly, every nerve in his body beginning to freeze over.

 

“Is it always this cold in here?” He asked. Roger's eyes traveled to the open window, giving a quick nod.

 

“I don't like the heat.” He answered, pushing back a few strands of black hair that had fallen into his eyes. His tongue ran over his lips, eyes shifting to glance down at Simon. “The bedroom is usually warmer, if you'd like to go in there.” Simon's breath hitched slightly and he stared at the other with wide, green eyes. He didn't respond, just continued to stare at the man in front of him, who had bent to put his lips up to Simon's ear. “It's down the hall, first door on the left.”

 

“Aren't you coming with me?” Simon asked, brows knitting together.

 

“In a moment; I need a smoke.” The smaller boy watching in awe as pallid, piano fingers reached for a pack of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table. He pulled a lighter from the back pocket of his jeans flicking the flame to life and bringing it toward the cancer stick dangling between his lips. The smell of nicotine assaulted Simon's senses, tempting him to cover his mouth and nose. He wasn't used to smoking. He'd never spent time with anyone who smoked heavily, making it so he wasn't used to the scent of tobacco. “Do you want a drink?” Roger asked before letting a puff of smoke billow from the corner of his mouth.

 

“You've been serving me drinks all night,” Simon said, watching as the corner of Roger's lips tilted up. “Maybe I should return the favor.”

 

“A noble gesture,” He started, blowing another cloud of smoke into the room. “But i'm perfectly content with my nicotine.” Simon hummed, stepping a bit closer as his fingertips just barely reached for the cancer stick. Roger raised a brow at him, the beginnings of an amused sort of smirk playing on his lips. He took another drag before handing it to Simon, waiting for the dark boy to put the cigarette up to his lips before exhaling his own smoke. “You have to hold the smoke in for as long as you can, or else it won't be able to travel into your lungs and you'll be plagued with a coughing fit.” Simon nodded, inhaling the smoke and cringing in regret as the taste of tobacco hit his tongue. He held it in for as long as he could manage before the smoke began to burn his throat and assault his taste buds. He blew it out with a sputtering cough, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when he noticed Roger's smirk. The man in front of him took back the cigarette, burned down to it's last few drags, and put it out in the bronze ash tray a top the coffee table.

 

Simon shifted, unsure of what to do next. He couldn't bring himself to take the initiative and drag Roger into his own bedroom, nor could he bear the discomfort he felt as the silence between the two of them continued to drag on, harsh gray eyes seeming to burn into his soul. Roger held out his hand in front of him, long, pallid fingers curled slightly to reveal bruised, purple nails. Simon couldn't help but take the moment to stare, wondering what the man in front of him could have possibly done to his poor, battered hands. He placed his hand on top of Roger's beaten one, noticing the stark contrast in their complexions immediately. To be completely fair, Simon was well aware of his dark skin tone and most people he met happened to be darker than him, but he had never met someone quite so light -so sickly pallid- and he had to take a moment to let the realization sink in.

 

Roger's grip on him tightened, squeezing his hand and pulling him in so that their chests' were pressed flush together. Simon gasped, an embarrassing, high pitched sound that made the man in front of him smirk. An arm looped around his waist, holding him against Roger's body tightly, making it seem nearly impossible for escape. A pale, bruised hand cupped his cheek, fingertips cold enough to make Simon shiver, but not flinch away. Thin lips brushed against his own in something that was just barely a kiss, and yet the small boy felt his heart stop, head spinning as he tangled his fingers into Roger's jet black hair. He pressed them together, making their lips collide in a harsh, hungry kiss. Electricity ran through the dark boy's veins, a drive for him to continue. He never had this feeling with his fiance, never experienced such a rush of want pulsing through his blood stream all from a kiss.

 

Teeth dug into his lower lip, tugging his closer as the grip on his waist tightened with bruising force. He was rough, Simon decided, not the type to give his mind time to comprehend or his body time to adjust, and it was  _exhilarating_. He was so used to boring sex, the kind with slow thrusts and closed eyes and very little talk aside from quiet murmurs of _I love you_ that he often wondered about the other end of the spectrum. The side with rough thrusts and bed frames hitting the wall, where you could scream out and dig his nails into his partner's back. And perhaps he was jumping to conclusions, perhaps he couldn't _really_ know what sort of lover Roger would be from a kiss, but Simon had a hunch that he certainly was not gentle. His fiance never kissed like the man kissing him, never held like the man holding him, never sunk his teeth into his skin or pinned him against the wall, making him gasp in surprise.

 

Roger's hips ground into Simon's, rutting against him like an animal in heat. His face flushed red, mouth opened slightly and brow twisted in satisfaction as those sharp teeth dug into his collarbone, biting with enough force to very nearly break skin. Simon gasped, his knees beginning to give out from underneath him. He held onto Roger's shoulder's for support, nails digging into skin and face buried in to the crook of his neck. He could hear how heavily he was breathing, couldn't contain his little gasps or moans every time Roger touched or kissed or bit.

 

“I've barely even touched you and you're already falling apart.” Roger murmured, sniggering just a bit, a low sort of mocking laugh that would've made Simon glare under normal circumstances, but in that moment he was too turned on to care. He let out a weak laugh, listing his head enough to stare into those intense gray eyes.

 

“I guess you just have that effect on me.” He said, watching with a hint of pride as Roger's lips tilted up into a grin. He ran his teeth over his lower lip, causing the little diamond stud going through his skin to catch the light. The dark boy stared, unable tot tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

 

“Does your fiance have this effect on you?” He asked, voice low and breathy, a whisper drifting across Simon's ear. For a moment, he considered getting angry, contemplated pushing Roger away and yelling at him because how _dare_ he bring Simon's fiance into this. But he couldn't because he realized that everything Roger told him that night was true, that Simon wasn't just bored, but he was unhappy. He needed out of that relationship or it would destroy him from the inside out, and he realized that not only did he not love the man he was to marry, but he never had been and he never would be. So he shook his head, not taking his eyes off Roger.

 

“He can't even get me off.” He replied, making the man above him scoff and shake his head.

 

“Fucking pathetic,” He murmured, bringing his lips to the shell of Simon's ear. “If you were mine I'd have you cumming twice a day, at _least_.” Simon's breath caught in his throat, face burning and pupils blown. Sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder, making the dark boy cry out.

 

“You think so?” He asked, panting heavily, body quivering with desire. “Why don't you prove it?” He could feel Roger's smirk on his skin, a slight tug of the lips over his shoulder that made him squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lower lip as his body was pushed roughly into the wall, Roger's own pinning him in place to leave no room for escape. Simon whimpered as the other mans lips attacked his own, tongue fighting its way past his lips, running over his own tongue. The dark boy's nails dug into Roger's back, dragging them down to leave red, agitated lines along his skin. He rolled his hips, desperately searching for friction, to which the man above him smirked and began rutting up against him.

 

“Bedroom?” He proposed, mumbling against Simon's lips. The dark boy nodded, breaking away just far enough to stare into those piercing gray eyes. He yelped when Roger's hands snaked under the curve of his arse, lifting him off the ground with ease and pulling his body close. Almost out of instinct, Simon wrapped his legs around Roger's waist, arms resting upon his shoulders and foreheads pressed together. He could feel Roger's breath in his cheek, hot and heavy, pupils blown and black hair a mess from Simon's tugging. Their mouths pressed together again, sloppy and full of hunger as the dark boy's hands cupped Roger's face, his entire body weight supported by the man holding him. Roger began walking into the corridor, stopping every now and again to grind their fronts together, just to hear the Simon's little whine of pleasure.

 

He let the bedroom door slam shut upon arrival, pressing Simon to the wall, one hand supporting the dark boy's back and the other resting on the underside of his thigh, just below his arse. Simon sighed as he peppered wet, open mouthed kisses along the side of his neck, sucking slightly at particularly tender areas. Roger's teeth sunk into his collarbone, making the small boy yelp and scramble to tighten his grip around the other man's shoulders. His could feel his heart pounding against his sternum, a sensation he wasn't familiar with whenever he slept with his fiance.

 

“Bed?” He asked, breathy with half lidded eyes. Roger shook his head, pressing their fronts together and moving his hips in slow circles.

 

“Can't make it,” He replied. He pulled away, eyes burning holes into Simon's own. Never had he seen such a look of pure hunger in someone else's face, and for a moment he was too petrified to speak. “I need you now.” He leaned in to capture Simon's lips again, but the dark boy lightly pushed him away.

 

“ 's just,” He said, swallowing thickly as his nerves jittered. “The wall kind of hurts and your bed looks big and soft-” Roger sighed, cutting him off. He loosened his grip, letting Simon slid down so his feet could touch the floor. He cupped the dark boy's cheek, a hint of a grin on his face.

 

“You win,” He murmured, pressing a peck to the top of his head. “But it's only because you're so damn pretty.” Simon blushed, a shy smile creeping up on his face. He was used to being called pretty, it was one of his fiance's favorite compliments, but he didn't realize how much he liked it before that moment. He stood on his toes, wrapping his arms around Roger's shoulders and pressing their lips together, melting into the kiss. His grip around Simon's waist tightened with a bruising force, pulling the dark boy closer and walking them over to the bed without breaking contact. Simon let out and embarrassing yelp when he was pushed onto the bed, head hitting the multitude of pillows. Before he head time to process what was happening, Roger had crawled over him, sucking bruises into his collarbone. He whimpered, throwing his head back and letting his eyelids flutter shut. Cool hands ran under his shirt, lifting the hem to reveal dark, smooth skin.

 

He propped himself up on his elbows, peeling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor, watching with pride as Roger's eye widened and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. The man above him followed his lead, unbuttoning his dress shirt and slowly letting it slid off his shoulders. The skin underneath his clothes was even more battered and bruised than his hands. A large, dark purple bruise stretched over his shoulder, dripping down to just above his clavicle. On his sternum, between his pectoral muscles, was a tattoo of a snake wrapped around a hunting spear, slitted eyes red and sharp, yellow fangs dripping with venom. Simon couldn't seem to take his eyes off the image, making Roger smirk and bend down, lips brushing over the shell of the dark boy's ear.

 

“See something you like, pretty boy?” he placed a kiss just below Simon's ear, continuing to trail a rough tongue down his body, stopping to sink his teeth into random places on the dark boy's skin. He bit into Simon's hipbone, making him arch up and moan, tangling his fingers into Roger's dark hair.

 

“Fuck,” Simon breathed, the man above him pressing his tongue just above the waist band of the dark boy's trousers. His thumb fingered the button on Simon's jeans, popping it open and sliding the denium down dark, smooth legs. The dark boy lifted his pelvis off the bed, allowing Roger to remove his jeans with more ease and sighing slightly as the cold air hit his skin. He shifted, goosebumps beginning to prick at his skin. Roger placed a kiss on his inner thigh, warm breath brushing his skin and teeth lightly nipping at the tender area. He gasped, tugging harshly at Roger's hair as his nails dug into the other man's scalp.

 

Suddenly, the warmth of Roger's mouth and body disappeared, leaving Simon dazed and shivering. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes traveling to the edge of the bed, watching as the man slid his black trousers down his legs, revealing the large tent in his boxers. Simon bit the corner of his lip, eyes trailing up Roger's body, taking a moment to admire his physic. His body was covered in carved images, black ink dancing over his snowy white skin. Running up his side, just over his ribcage was a coiled piece of razor wire, sad, half dead flowers budding from the twists and loops. Stretching from one hips to the other was the solar system, the sun placed in the very center, just below his navel. Shiny, metal studs poked out from his hipbones, two on each side and adding a slight sparkle to the planets at the very far ends. On his left thigh was a serpent, coiled around his quadriceps, it's long, green tail reaching just above his knee. The image was almost identical to the one on his sternum, the only different being in size and detailing. Roger caught at sideways glance at Simon's staring, his lips quirking up into a grin.

 

“You don't meet a lot of people with tattoos, do you?” He asked, making Simon grin shyly and shake his head.

 

“No, I tend to associate myself with people who are prim and proper. That's what my fiance prefers.” Roger scoffed, rolling his eyes. He stretched his arms above his head, leaning back ever so slightly to make his back pop, and soon he was on the dark boy again, grinding their fronts together as their lips locked in a hungry kiss.

 

“Your fiance sounds controlling.” Roger mumbled, the tips of his fingers dipping into the waistband of Simon's underwear, just barely brushing over his pelvis. The dark boy groaned, rolling his hips up in search for more friction, brain having lost almost all functionality. He couldn't comprehend the words spilling from Roger's mouth, but he could only focus on the pleasure his body ached for and how much he was being teased to near breaking point. Roger grinned, dipping his fingers lower to brush over the base of Simon's dick, making the small boy gasp.

 

“Eager?” Roger asked, voice breathy and low. Simon bit his lip as the man above him wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking slowly. “You feel eager.” Simon felt him hook his index finger under the dark boy's waist band, pulling his last article of clothing off his hips. The hold on his dick released, allowing Roger to pull of his own boxers, relieving the strain on his cock. Simon couldn't help but widen his eyes, just slightly, but nor enough for the other man to notice. He hoped. He had never truly _been_ with a man apart from his fiance, never experienced what sex with another person would be like, and for a moment he found himself intimidated by Roger's size.

 

The man above him reached toward the bedside table to their left, shuffling around in the drawer for a moment without bothering to break this lip lock with Simon. He hooked his other hand under the small boy's thigh, right at the junction where his leg connected to his arse, calloused hands gripping at soft skin. He bit Simon's lower lip, tugging slightly to draw the small boy closer before releasing his hold to coat his fingers in lube. He paused his movements for a moment, glancing at the boy below him.

 

“When was the last time you were stretched?” His sexual, cocky tone had dropped entirely, brow furrowing in curiosity. Simon pursed his lips, shrugging one shoulder as much as he could in his position.

 

“Well, I stretch myself pretty regularly, but I would do it anyway,” He paused, glancing down at the other man's cock as a large red blush spread across his cheeks. “Y'know, just in case.” Roger grinned, coating three of his fingers in lube and leaning down to press a kiss to Simon's lips. He hooked his right hand under Simon's thigh, lifting his leg slightly to wrap around his waist, left hand pressing an index finger to the dark boy's entrance.

 

“You love boosting my ego, don't you?” He asked, pushing his finger in teasingly slow. Simon gasped, eyes blown as his wrapped his arms around Roger's shoulders. They held eye contact as the other man's index finger began moving in and out of Simon, just barely brushing past his prostate. He could feel his thighs shaking, fingers trembling against the skin on Roger's back. He nearly threw his head back and screamed when a second finger was added, making scissoring motions to properly stretch him. He could feel the pressure building in his stomach, making his muscles tighten and his face flush with desire. Roger's fingers were extracted quickly, the man above him clearly growing impatient and board with the stretching. He coated the palm of his hand with lubricant, pumping his dick once, then twice to properly slick it up. He pushed Simon's leg up just a bit higher, just to make it easier to line up with his entrance.

 

The tip of his dick barely prodded at Simon's hole, making the small boy quiver with anticipation. He pushed back slightly, taking in just a bit and watching as those gray eyes shined with flecks of gold. The first push in was slow and hurt like hell. Simon drew a sharp intake of breath, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails in the skin of Roger's back. He didn't want to be comparing them -hell, he didn't even want to _think_ about his fiance- but it was the only comparison he had, and Roger was _so much_ bigger. They stayed still for a moment, enough time for Simon to adjust to the new size and to find his breath once again. Slowly, he nodded his head, giving the man above him the okay to continue.

 

The second thrust was quick and shallow, barely pulling out before ramming himself back in, hit Simon's prostate head on. The dark boy cried out, wailing in a mix of agony and pleasure. Roger thrust again, deeper this time and almost completely bottoming out. He moved quickly, hips snapping to a rhythm that threw Simon off balance. He grasped for support, clawing at Roger's back and letting out loud, embarrassing moans.

 

He could feel every nerve in his body set ablaze with want, the pressure in his stomach causing heat to crawl through his muscles. He could hear the mattress squeaking underneath him, the bed frame hitting the wall with loud _thuds_ and Roger's hips giving quick, sharp thrusts into his body. The man above his adjusted slightly, hitting Simon's prostate dead on as the small boy moaned loudly, begging for him to go deep. Each snap of his hips were shallow and quick, as if he were trying to tease more than anything. Roger thrust up, shoving his entire length into Simon's body, stuffing him full. His grip on the junction between the small boy's thigh and arse tightened, almost to the point of pain as he thrust harder, pulling out almost entirely before ramming himself back in.

 

“A-ah, harder.” The small boy blurted, embarrassed by his own words. He had never been so vocal during sex. Granted, he had never had good sex until that moment. The pressure in his stomach became too much to bear, traveling throughout his body and exploding, making him see splotches of white light dance across his vision. He could hear Roger's groans and grunts from above before his too released, spilling out inside Simon's arse and collapsing on the bed next to him.

 

“That was bloody fucking mental.” He mumbled, digging his face into the pillow next to him. Simon grinned, nodding his head as he crawled under Roger's comforter. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open, every muscle in his body having turned to jelly. Slowly he let himself drift to sleep, not a single thought of his fiance crossing his mind.

 

When he woke, he figured only an hour or two had passed, seeing that the outside was still dark and star still danced across the sky. A brisk wind blew through the room, making Simon shiver and pull the blanket closer. He sat up, seeing that the glass doors to Roger's balcony were open, the man in question leaning over the railing in his boxers, smoking a cigarette. Simon rubbed his eyes, squinting to make sure he wasn't delusional. He sat up, pushing back a few strands of black hair that had fallen into his face.

 

“What are you doing up?” He asked. Roger didn't take his gaze off the city below them, care bustling through the streets and fast food shops fully lit.

 

“Couldn't sleep.” He answered. Simon ruffled his hair and kicked off the comforter, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pulling on his own boxers. He walked over to the other man, bare feet padding against the hardwood. He wrapped his arms around Roger's waist, resting his head between his shoulder blades.

 

“Something eating away at you?” He asked. Roger grinned, flicking ashes off the end of his cigarette.

 

“Yeah,” He replied. “Just about everything.”

 


	2. Dollhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of domestic, slightly OOC jalph because I couldn't help myself.

Warm water engulfed Simon's body -naked, caramel colored skin glistening with droplets of moisture. He let himself slid down, chin soaking in the pool of water, warm and steaming. The air around him felt thick and humid, smelling of vanilla bubble bath and Old Spice shampoo and the sound of the dripping faucet seemed distant, as if each drop hitting the surface of the bath water was a million miles away. Candles were lined around the rim of the bathtub, lit and flickering with soft flames, making themselves the only light source in the otherwise dark room. A quiet music drifted through the air, melody slow and calming as the _'relaxation'_ playlist from Simon's phone played on loop. He wasn't sure how long he'd been submerged in the water, but he could feel the skin on his palms pruning with ghastly wrinkles and creases, as if he had suddenly aged fifty years. He scooped up a handful of bubbles, the faint scent of vanilla washing over his senses as he stared at the white mound a top his palm with intent. He blew a gust of air at the pile of bubbles, making them fly about like snow flakes and stick to the bathroom walls. A few just hardly missed the flame of one of the candles, instead opting to stick to the hot wax dripping off the side and sizzle into nothingness.

 

He lifted his right leg slightly, allowing the top of his thigh to appear from underneath the surface of the water, skin slick and glistening. He turned it slightly, attempting to examine the inside of his thigh through the dim lighting. Bruises and bite marks speckled otherwise flawless skin, teeth marks placed in particularly tender areas and soft hickies traveling up his inner thigh. He flushed, memories of Roger rushing back to him, hitting his mind like a block of cement. Simon could still taste the other man's lips on his own, could feel Roger's tongue on the inside of his teeth, his cock thrusting in and out of Simon's body, rough, fast, and _hungry._ The smaller boy could still remember the most recent time, how he had been on his hands and knees, face squished into the pillows and taking everything Roger could throw at him from behind, begging, screaming, _bleeding_ for the other. How many times had he gone back since that first fateful night? How many times had he been sucked into and incubus's curse without anyway of getting out? He wasn't sure. Part of him, a part buried in the deepest abyss in his soul, believed Roger had always been around, always been a temptation he had refrained from giving in to up until recently. And once he gave in, the was no going back.

 

He couldn't remember the last time he had been intimate with his fiance. He feared the idea that his fiance would see the marks branded across his body, realizing that they had been left by someone else. Simon sighed, sinking further into the water and letting his eyes flutter shut. He was tired and sweaty and needed time to clear his head after the conversation he had only recently had with Roger. The words continued to play in his head, a playlist on a permanent loop that he never wanted to be bothered with.

 

* * *

 

“ _I don't understand why you don't leave him.” Roger said, eyes glued to the ceiling. They were laying in his bed, bodies worn and broken, Simon's vocal chords feeling sore from the screaming. A dull, throbbing sort of ache nestled in his lower back, spreading through his arse and allowing itself to drip down the the back of his thighs. He turned to his side, eyes searching Roger's face, a clear scowl starting to form on his own. He was used to this conversation, knowing full well how his lover felt about the man he was to marry. Roger turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Simon, gray intensity on green curiosity. “Just to be done with it, so that you can be with me and not feel all this guilt.”_

 

“ _Be with you?” Simon mumbled, partially to himself. He didn't know why he was getting so offended, Roger's point made complete sense, and yet he hated it. He hated hearing his fiance -the man he had spent so much of his life with- spoken of in this way. “Who says I want to_ be _with you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Our relationship is solely physical, and there's nothing else to it.”_

 

_Roger sighed, turning fully on his side, facing Simon head on. “You're saying you don't feel anything for me? That's there's nothing else there other than the desire to be fucked?” Simon could feel the tremble in his lower lip and he wasn't sure if he was about to cry or start yelling. How could Roger be so calm talking about things like this?_

 

“ _No.” He said, trying to make his voice sound as firm as possible. He cringed at the slight waver, praying to god that the man laying next to him wouldn't notice. He watched with dread as Roger's lips quirked up into a smirk, the gold flecks in his eyes glinting with pride._

 

“ _You're lying.” He murmured, voice dropping just a bit, just enough for Simon to feel a slight twitch of arousal course through his body. Damn him._

 

“ _I'm_ not _lying,” He nearly yelled, voicing raising along side his levels of frustration. “I'm sorry that I want a partner who can fulfill my emotional needs just as much as my physical ones. My fiance and I-” He paused, finding his breath catching with anger. He was getting too upset, too emotionally involved. He swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing. “We talk about things and we know each other and he likes listening to what I have to say. The only thing about me that interests you is my arse.” Roger's expression hardened, all amusement dropping from his face. His eyes burned with something Simon couldn't recognize, something that looked similar to rage, but wasn't quite there. He rolled on top of Simon, pinning the small boy to the mattress underneath him. Roger gripped his jaw, forcing wide green eyes to stare into his own._

 

“ _Then talk to me.” Roger said, voice low and deadly serious. Simon could feel his body trembling, every nerve and muscle ablaze with anxiety. He couldn't bring himself to look away, to push Roger's body off his own. He stayed quiet, lower lip quivering like a frightened rabbit and green eyes pricking with the beginnings of tears._

 

“ _I can't.” He whispered, voice wavering with nerves. “I can't let myself do that.”_

 

“ _Why?” Roger demanded._

 

“ _Because if were start doing that -start acting like a_ real _couple- than I'll fall in love with you and I can't do that. I'm getting married in the spring, my fiance is talking about kids, I can't just fall in love with someone else.” Roger's lips twitched to something that wasn't quite a smile, something that felt more upsetting, more hurt. His grip on Simon's jaw loosened as he brought his face closer -close enough to kiss._

 

“ _You can't possibly-” He cut himself off, sighing with frustration. “What you have with him isn't good for you.”_

 

“This _isn't good for me!” Simon yelled, pushing Roger's body off his own. He sat up abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at his lap. “It's none of your business, anyway.” He snapped, head turning back to glare at Roger. The other man scoffed, fingers twitching with a madness Simon had never witnessed in another person before. His watched as Roger's teeth dug into his lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. His hands flexed as if they itched to hurt._

 

“ _You're right.” He answered, voice low and breathy. “I shouldn't bring up your fiance.” He stood from his place, walking over to the blank, white wall next to the doors leading to the balcony. Simon winced as he watched Roger's fist hit the plaster, the sound resonating throughout the room. He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders tense with fear as he bit the inside of his cheek. Roger glanced at him, shaking his hand in an attempt to relieve the pain. “Sorry.” He mumbled. There was a pause, a quiet tension where Simon found himself too petrified to reply._

 

“ _Better the wall than me.” He said finally, not bothering to meet the other man's eyes._

 

“ _I would never hit you.” He said, brows knitting together in concern. Simon nodded, still not able to meet Roger's eyes. “I know I'm not a nice person, but I wouldn't stoop so low-”_

 

“ _I know.” the dark boy said, completely cutting off the man in front of him._

 

“ _Simon,” He said, making the smaller lift his gaze. “Don't you know you're already in love with me?”_

 

_It was like getting hit with a sack of bricks and Simon could feel his world crashing down around him. Everything felt as though it were moving in slow motion. He could feel an imaginary current ripple though the air surrounding him, pulling him down, trying to make him drown. He could feel hot tears streaming down his face, voice catching with the lump in his throat. He knew it was true, he just didn't want it to be._

 

* * *

 

Simon wasn't one to have many friends, and the ones he did have, he didn't usually like. The people he associated himself with had to be pre-approved by his fiance in an attempt to keep up their pristine reputation, which meant Simon rarely bothered to find platonic comfort in the company of others. Ralph was different, however. Simon's fiance had always been quite fond of the blond lad, seeing as he managed to maintain a fairly good reputation with his athletic ability and place on the social pyramid throughout all his life. He was an attractive bloke, with thick golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a well maintained, athletic build. Ralph's husband was one of the youngest higher ups to ever encounter his particular position in the company he worked for and was well known for his intelligence and ambition. The pair had recently adopted a baby girl from Kenya, a nine month old child called Cathrine, and Ralph had decided to only work part time so he could spend a majority of his week with his daughter. Their family was happy and stable, regardless of how young Ralph and his husband were, only having barely reached the ages of twenty-three and twenty-five, respectively. All of these things made Simon's fiance happy, meaning the dark boy could keep his dearest friend.

 

They ended up meeting for lunch at a small cafe in Camden, just on the north eastern end of London. Ralph brought his daughter along, the adorable, chubby little girl nestled in the crook of his elbow with a large smile on her face. Her skin was darker than Simon's, more of a dark mocha than a caramel color, and a few black curls were beginning to sprout from the top of her head. Her eyes were blue, an unusually light color for such a dark girl, but they matched with those of her fathers', just as a little feature to connect the three of them together. Ralph looked exhausted, his honey blond hair disheveled and dark purple bags forming under his eyes. Little bits of stress acne had begun to form on his chin, small red bumps that wouldn't have been noticeable if it weren't for the fact that Ralph's generally flawless skin was one of his defining features. Simon wasn't shocked, however. He knew that having a child was quite a bit of work and he couldn't imagine Ralph's husband was much help considering he spent most of his time at his office.

 

They hugged upon their hellos, Ralph's smile still as glamorous and dimpled as ever, glistening white teeth flashing with excitement. Cathrine grabbed Simon's finger with her strong, infant hands, holding tight and refusing to let go. Simon giggled, tickling her belly lightly and making the cheerful little girl squeal with glee. They were led to a charming, two person table next to the window, allowing them to peer into the gloomy British sky, gray clouds covering the surface of blue. A high chair was pulled up for Cathrine, which Ralph strapped her into and placed a gentle kiss to the top of her curls before taking his own seat.

 

“How have you been?” Simon asked, trying his best to sound casual and friendly, regardless of his own inner turmoil. The nice thing about his friendship with Ralph was that he never needed to talk much when they were together. Ralph was a genuinely bubbly and outgoing person who always had a story to tell, meaning that Simon could sit back and listen for the duration of their visits and never get sick of hearing Ralph speak.

 

“I'm tired and silently praying that Jack doesn't want another child.” He answered, smiling in a way that didn't reach his eyes. “I love Cat, she's gorgeous and perfect. She's been talking a bit, mostly nonsensical babble, but she's said four actual words so far. Light, car, cat, and dad. She also took her first steps last week, just two little steps before she fell over again and she didn't cry at all when she fell, just giggled and crawled over to Jack. I don't think I've ever seen my husband so happy.” Simon smiled, glad to hear how happy his friend's life was turning out to be. He always thought Ralph deserved more happiness than any of the others in their friend group from high school, more than Peter, or Sam, or Eric, who Simon had always viewed as bad people with the best of intentions. Ralph wasn't manipulative like Sam or selfish like Eric or pretentious like Peter, but rather a genuinely good hearted person who only wanted the best for others.

 

“Why don't you want another child, then?” Simon asked, always figuring that Ralph would be the type to have more children than he could count.

 

“Well, the adoption process is an absolute _nightmare_. We had to file the paper work for Cat before she was even born, and after that we had to wait a year before they were approved. We only manged to take her home two months ago, which means we must've missed a few milestones for her. Also, it's hard to understand how much work a child is until you have one, and I know I couldn't have asked for a better child because Cat is gorgeous and healthy and the happiest little girl I've ever met, but she's still a handful.” Simon nodded, eyes roaming over his menu as his friend spoke. “But Jack doesn't truly understand because he's at the office a lot of the time -which is fine, he really does help out as much as he can, he just doesn't _get_ it, you know? So I think he really wants another baby, but I'm not ready for that.”

 

“How's your romantic life after having a baby in the house?” Simon asked, raising his eyebrows a bit as Ralph's grin widened, dimples creating deep crevices in his cheeks to form something that looked a bit more mischievous.

 

“The _romance_ is lacking a bit, seeing as how we can't go on dates whenever we want or surprise each other with little gifts as often any more, but the _sex_ is better than ever.” Simon had to hold in an obnoxious laugh, curling his lips in and slapping his hand over his mouth. He made and ugly snorting noise in an attempt to stifle his little bubble of giggles, making Ralph smirk just a bit.

 

“Details?” Simon asked, still grinning a bit from his friend's previous comment.

 

“Mm,” Ralph hummed, placing his chin in the palm of his hand and drumming his fingers against the table top. “It's not often because we're both exhausted all the time and we really need to be paying as much attention to Cat as possible, but once every two weeks, we call a sitter for a day so we can have the flat to ourselves, which may not seem often enough, but it's a full day of _nonstop_ physical intimacy. There's maybe a one hour break for a nap, and of course we still eat meals but other than that-” Simon's uncontrollable giggling cut Ralph off, making the golden boy grin like a madman.

 

“What about that makes it better than ever?” Simon asked after he allowed himself a moment to control his laughter. He realized that Ralph's cheeks were tinted pink, the blush spreading over the bridge of his nose, making the few light freckles on his cheekbones more apparent.

 

“Jack is just so _enthusiastic._ We're so used to being over worked and stressed out without any time for joy, but now that we have a baby we're happy, which really makes every aspect of out lives -apart from sleep, of course- infinitely better.” Simon grinned, genuinely happy for his friend's happiness. He had never been jealous of Ralph, despite the fact that the golden boy's life always seemed infinitely more put together than his own, but he never translated that to personal pettiness. He really did enjoy seeing his best friend succeed and find pleasure in being alive, especially since their school years were rough on the both of them. It was nice to see things turning around for him.

 

“Happy wife, happy life I suppose.” Ralph snorted, running a hand through his honey blond hair.

 

“Frankly, I think I'm _much_ more of a wife than Jack will ever be. He's too stuck in his masculine, man of the house ways. I'm mostly a trophy wife with a bit of homemaker thrown in.” Simon scoffed, knowing full well how much Ralph's husband cared for him, regardless of how little he chose to show it around peers and coworkers. It was the looks they shared, mostly -the sideways glances that ended in a red blush that spread across Ralph's cheeks and a smirk to dance on Jack's lips, or the long, meaningful stares they shared when that was the only affection they could display in a particular setting. It was the sort of romance Simon never had with his fiance, which was the only aspect of Ralph's life the dark boy ever allowed himself to find jealousy in.

 

“Jack is sickeningly in love with you.” Simon replied, his gaze falling to his lap. Ralph's lips pressed in a thin line, eyebrows knitting together in what seemed to be concern. He reached his hand across the table to brush Simon's knuckles with his own.

 

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

 

Dammit.

 

He knew.

 

“I,” Simon paused, sighing slightly and feeling the warm tears prick at his eyes once again. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit this, not being able to help but worry how Ralph would react to such a horrible misdeed. His hands trembled slightly, the shaking uncontrollable. “I did something awful.” He confessed, voice barely above a whisper. Ralph's grip around his hand tightened, blue eyes filled with understanding.

 

“We all do bad things sometimes-” Simon cut him off with a scoff, retreating his hand from the golden boy's grasp.

 

“Not like this.” He said bitterly, trying his best to direct all his pent up frustration toward himself. “I'm despicable, the worst of the worst. I've become something I promised myself I'd never be.” He glanced back up at Ralph, eye glistening with tears. “I cheated.” Once he started talking, everything else became word vomit, the confession spilling from his lips before he was even sure what was going on.

 

“Simon-”

 

“And the worst part is, I keep going back. It wasn't a one time thing, some stupid, drunken mistake I can apologise away, it was a deliberate, sober decision I _keep_ making.” Ralph opened his mouth, getting ready to speak when Cathrine began to wail. Both their heads snapped toward the crying infant, to which Ralph groaned and stood from his seat.

 

“Great, now I have two crying loved ones to deal with.” He grumbled, lifting his daughter from her highchair. He turned back to Simon, eyes intense with a mix of judgement and concern. “I need to go change her, but I'll be back. We'll talk about this.” He reached out to squeeze Simon's shoulder reassuringly. “It'll be okay.”

 

Simon waited patiently for his friend to return, anxiety gnawing at the pit of his stomach, unable to control the relentless bouncing in his knee. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, staring at the gray British sky, not daring to allow his mind to travel to Roger. He kept replaying the look of shock on Ralph's features, which had then transformed into horror, making Simon wince with guilt. He shouldn't have said anything, should have just kept his infidelity a dirty secret and allowed the people in his life to continue viewing him in a state of perfection. But he needed to tell _somebody_ , needed to get the agony of guilt off his chest, the ugly sensation that only seemed to weigh down every step he took. And Ralph was his dearest friend, he wouldn't reject Simon for this, would he? The dark boy wasn't sure. He couldn't seem to fully read the strange look dancing across his friend's eyes upon the confession, whether it was pity or horror or something else entirely. Ralph returned with his giggling daughter in his arms after what seemed to be an eternity, hair disheveled and the purple bags under his eyes seeming to have only grown darker. But he smiled nonetheless, a kind smile that reached his eyes and caused his dimples to cave in. Simon always seemed to find comfort in that smile, ever since their earliest years of secondary school.

 

“My apologies,” Ralph said, placing his daughter back in her high chair. He kissed her forehead, making the little girl squeal in delight, her own dimples caving in. Yet another physical trait she shared with her adoptive father, and the thought made Simon almost grin. Ralph retook his seat, dark blue eyes seeming to pierce into Simon's soul with a look that was virtually unreadable. It made the dark boy squirm. “Where were we?” Ralph asked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Simon pursed his lips, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about this anymore, a part of him tempted to derail the subject back to Ralph's family.

 

“I love him, Ralph, and I think that's the biggest issue with all this -I really, truly love him.” The crease in Ralph's forehead deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

 

“Of course you love him, that's why you're supposed to be getting married soon.” Simon shook his head, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes all over again. He wasn't sure he could get through this conversation without falling apart, and he really didn't want to cause a scene in a restaurant.

 

“Not my fiance,” He corrected, voice catching a bit, making him cringe at his own weakness. “The other one.” Ralph's expression softened with pity, blue eyes glistening with what seemed to be understanding, causing just a bit of relief to wash over Simon's mind. He scoffed, a bitter thought crossing his mind. “It's funny, really.” He started. “I love the man I'm not supposed to, but I feel nothing for the man I'm engaged to, and it always seems to work out that way, doesn't it? And maybe if what I had with the other one wasn't love, this would be more bearable. Maybe if it was just physical than I would be okay.” Ralph gazed at him, dark blue eyes filled with sorrow and pity.

 

“Jack and I are hosting a little dinner party on Saturday,” He said suddenly, brow creasing slightly. “He wants to impress his boss with his perfect family and we figured it would also be a good time to have friends over. It could be a nice distraction from everything that's going on.” Simon sat back, eyes glazing over as he found himself lost in thought. There would be no thoughts of Roger, no need to allow his guilt to swallow him whole. Just a night of light hearted socializing and time spent with his dearest friend. He glanced out the window, watching as birds fluttered by and winds rustled the leaves decorating the branches. He looked back at Ralph, who was staring at him expectantly.

 

“Okay.” He agreed, watching as those dimples caved in to golden tanned skin.

 

* * *

 

Simon's fiance ended up wanting to join him at the Merridew's dinner party, having always admired their family and their social position. Jack was well known around their area, his company a rather well known one in the North Eastern section of London, and his position being a particularly powerful one. He wasn't a local celebrity, not exactly, but he was admired by other powerful people and occasionally recognized on the streets. Ralph, on the other hand, wasn't necessarily a powerful figure, but he did cause heads to turn whenever he went anywhere. His name wasn't known like Jack's, but his face was admired, seeing as his looks were comparable to that of a God. They arrived around 6:30, Simon's hand wrapped around a bottle of red wine, a little silver ribbon tied around the bottle's neck. Their flat was somewhere on the middle floor of one of the tallest skyscrapers in their area of London, overlooking a good majority of the city. Simon had only ever been inside twice, once when they first moved in and once just after they got married.

 

Ralph was the one to answer the door, his golden blond hair styled meticulously to brush over his forehead and his dark circles seemingly to have disappeared. He smiled widely, taking the bottle of wine with gratitude as his eyes skimmed the label.

 

“I must admit, I know nothing about wine.” He said after a moment, making Simon's fiance chuckle ever so slightly.

 

“It's a good one, a personal favorite of mine.” Simon could feel his plastered smile waver as he tried his best to keep from rolling is eyes. He knew full well that neither of them had ever tried that wine, not having enough money the money to waste on such things and often opted for the cheaper bottles of alcohol. But they were guests in the home of powerful, well known people and his fiance found it appropriate to spend forty pounds on a bottle of wine, just to show off. Part of Simon couldn't stand just how _fake_ his fiance was whenever they were around those who stood at a higher social class than themselves, as if he were trying to pretend that he too was powerful and wealthy. It made the dark boy sick.

 

Ralph stepped aside, allowing them to enter the flat. It was a large, open space with white carpeting and pristine furniture decorating the interior. A large, white sofa was pressed to the wall perpendicular to the doorway, decorated with navy blue, embroidered pillows. A painting was hung over the piece of furniture, a colorful, water colored painting depicting images of flower bouquets. Across from the sofa was a huge, flat screen television, hooked up just above the stone walled fire place. Simon could feel his fiance shift beside him, clearly impressed with the decor. On the couch sat Ralph's husband, Jack, sipping from a bottle of Heineken beer and exchanging formalities with an older man, most likely in his late forties, with salt and pepper hair and prominent smile lines around his eyes. He had a thick, gray mustache covering his upper lip and dark brown eyes that held a sense of power in them. His posture portrayed arrogance and superiority, as if he were a very important man and he knew it. The ambition in his eyes could almost combat matched Jack's, strong and determined.

 

Jack's eyes traveled over to Simon's and he smiled, his signature Jack Merridew half-smirk that always seemed to drive Ralph crazy during their high school years. Simon always thought it was the confidence behind the smile, the sort of pride that told the world he was in fact a powerful, ambitious person who knew he would rule the world some day. As much as he refused to admit it, Ralph was, and always had been, attracted to power. Part of Simon believed he was, too. He smiled back at Jack, friendly and casual. He watched as Ralph made his way over to the sofa, standing slightly off to his husband's side.

 

“Sorry to bother you,” He said, his fake, polite smile plastered on his face, making the realization hit Simon that the other man sitting on the sofa was Jack's boss. “I was wondering if either of you would like a glass of wine? Simon was lovely enough to bring over a bottle.”

 

“Mm,” Jack hummed, taking a sip of his beer and shaking his head slightly. “I'm alright, love, but thank you.” They way they were talking seemed too fake, too overly polite and formal, as if they were trying to prove how much of a perfect family they were. Jack's boss took the bottle from Ralph's hands, examining the label intently. He looked back up at the golden boy, his face stern and his mouth pressed into a firm line.

 

“Not a fan.” He said after a moment and Simon watch as his fiance's brow creased with confusion. Ralph took the bottle back, smiling brightly with dimpled cheeks and perfect teeth, too polite for his own good. Granted, Simon figured he too would be overly polite and formal if his own fiance's boss came over for dinner, as he would try his absolute best to leave a good impression on the man. He followed Ralph into the kitchen, giving himself time to break away from the man he was to marry and speak with his dearest friend. Ralph sighed, his shoulders heaving and his lips curling into his mouth. Frustrated.

 

“That man,” Ralph murmured, fingers tapping along the granite counter top. His brow creased in annoyance as he scowled at the wall behind Simon. “He's the CEO of the company, you know -a very important man in a very important position, so we really have to be as kind to him as possible. He already likes Jack, which is good for us, but he also has a history of homophobic comments and throwing around slurs as a joke, so I don't think he's fond of me.” Simon wasn't so sure about that, considering he had developed quite the skill of reading body language and it wasn't dislike he saw in that man's eyes when he looked at Ralph. As a matter of fact, it was the same thing he saw whenever anyone looked at Ralph; hunger. It wasn't as though Jack's boss was intentionally pining after the fair boy -Simon doubted that man was interested in other men, anyway- but the look in his eyes went a bit further than appreciating an aesthetic.

 

“Is anyone else going to be coming over tonight?” Simon asked, switching topics to avoid another conversation of explaining to Ralph that most people find the fair boy unfairly attractive and sometimes that sparks feelings of jealousy in their minds. Ralph nodded, pouring himself a glass of wine.

 

“A few of Jack's mates from university, I think, but that should be it.” He replied, beginning to pour a second glass for Simon. The dark boy took the wine with a quiet “thank you,” sipping the alcohol thoughtfully. He had never really encountered any of Jack's friends, come to think of it. Often when he spent time with the Merridew's as a unit, it was at his own flat during his own social functions. They were both tremendously busy and rarely had time for socializing, so they never threw dinner parties, or really any other type of social events, which meant Simon never interacted with friends of theirs that weren't mutual to the dark boy's own friend group. They ended up in the kitchen for a while, drinking wine and gossiping about their lives like a pair of housewife's from the 1950's, which wasn't far from the truth. When a knock was heard at the door, Ralph didn't bother answering it, claiming that it was Jack's friend so Jack should be the one to greet them.

 

A few new voices were heard from the living room, seeming to blend with those of the other men. If Simon really strained to listen, he could make out two of them, both men with very different ways of speaking. The first of them was loud and talkative. He bubbled with all sorts of irrelevant stories, but they way he told them was so entertaining that they seemed like the most important things anyone had said all night. He had a thick cockney accent, letting his words slur slightly the faster he talked and even though Simon couldn't see him, he pictured the voice to be the type of bloke to talk with his hands. The other didn't speak much, but when he did it was gruff and low, the type of voice everyone in the room stopped to listen to, and there was something about that tone that seemed oh so familiar. Simon paused, inching closer to the other room and straining to hear. He knew that voice, everything about it filled him with a sense of dread, weighing in the pit of his stomach. He had to go out there, had to see for himself if it was real. He turned to Ralph, eyes displaying a silent question to follow -a demand the fair boy gladly followed.

 

Simon pushed open the kitchen door, emerging from the hot room with his half finished wine gripped in his right hand. He scanned the room, the space too big for only five bodies. He locked eyes with the body belonging to the voice, a cold fear suddenly washing over him.

 

This couldn't be happening.

 

This _wasn't_ happening.

 

He felt the need to bolt out of the flat, never to return again. He wanted to run, to leave , to avoid everything that was about to happen. But he couldn't. His feet were glued to the floor, forcing him in place to face this awful humiliation. He couldn't deal with this right now, couldn't will himself to smile and pretend everything was fine as those gray eyes and that smug smirk stared holes into his soul, making his heart pound rapidly against his sternum. He cocked his head to the side, extended his hand with those gray eyes, those _damned_ gray eyes, glinting with smug pride.

 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” He said, too cheerful, too calm. “I'm Roger Black.” Simon took his hand with shaking fingers, every part of him trembling with nervousness. He glanced at the others around them, all talking among themselves as if they didn't notice anything wrong, as if this was a normal formality. But Simon knew and he couldn't seem to look away from those intense, dark gray eyes. The fleck of gold sparkled, as they did when ever he was planning something, whenever he did the sort of thing that made Simon's heart race and the dark boy prayed to _God_ that he wasn't going to kiss him right then and there.

 

“Simon,” He said, voice shaking, just as he feared it would. “Simon Montgomery.” He heard his fiance clear his throat from the other side of him, making him wince. “Soon to be Simon Lewis.” Roger lifted his chin slightly, staring down at Simon with smug, sunken eyes.

 

"Charmed." He replied. Their gaze held for just a second too long, just a moment longer than acceptable and Simon could feel heat rush to his face, wondering if his flush was noticeable. He turned to look at Ralph for help, who beckoned him back into the kitchen. Once alone, he couldn't control his breathing, each inhale coming faster than he could keep track of. His legs buckled underneath him, ready to give out entirely as the world around him blurred. Ralph stared at him in a mix of shock and curiosity as Simon gripped the counter top to stop himself from falling over. Tonight was supposed to be a chance to forget, to allow himself to ignore his worries and enjoy time with friends, and yet his biggest concern showed up at the Merridew's doorstep. In that moment, Simon really wanted to die.

 

“That was him,” He gasped, voice hoarse and barely able to go above a whisper. He tried to control his breathing, swallowing dryly before trying to speak again. “That was the man I've been-”

 

“Roger?” Ralph asked, his voice matching Simon's in a state of whispered panic. Simon nodded rapidly, unable to control the jitters of his movements as his eyes squeezed shut in shame. Ralph blew out a long breath, lips pursing in concentration. “That does make things awfully awkward, doesn't it?”

 

* * *

 

Dinner was served not long after. They ended up eating lasagna, which was one of the three dishes Ralph actually knew how to make and he made it fairly well. Simon didn't complain, he had never been a picky eater, not the type to turn down free food. He sat next to his fiance, who wasn't they type to believe in showing affection when they were around people he deemed to be important, which meant they sat a comfortable distance away and refrained from touching each other. Roger sat across from him, and to his surprise, payed Simon no mind through out most of the meal. He made pleasant conversation with Jack and his boss, asking questions about the company as if he were interested. Simon knew better, well aware of how absolutely repulsed his lover was by the prospect of an office job, cubicle and all. Not being a man of many words, he gladly sat back and listened to the other conversations, adding in one worded comments occasionally or laughing at the light hearted jokes. It was almost nice.

 

Almost.

 

Somewhere in the back of his head was a quiet, nagging voice, reminding him that he couldn't relax, couldn't allow himself to fully enjoy the party or the present company because Roger was so close, right under his fiance's nose. It was like a scene from Simon's own personal horror movie and he couldn't seem to find a way out. Just as he started to relax, just as he began to grow more comfortable in his environment, Roger would shook him a sly glance that would make his skin erupt in flames. He could feel the other man's foot running against his ankle, making Simon's breath hitch slightly in his throat. He tried to focus on the food, to ignore the feeling of Roger's foot inching higher up his leg, caressing his calf, rolling over his knee, pressing itself down on his inner thigh...

 

He stood suddenly, face hot and blood pooling below his waistline. He glanced at Roger, who seemed expressionless and he picked at the food on his plate. He tried to glare, but couldn't. “Excuse me.” He said turning to Ralph as he rushed toward the upstairs section of the flat, toward the master bathroom. He couldn't control the heave in his chest as his breathing got caught in his throat, making every step of the staircase a climb up mount. Everest. He slammed the door to the bathroom shut upon arrival, gasping for breath as he sunk to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He needed to leave, he couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't have Roger hear, not when his fiance was present. Not when he was getting married in the spring.

 

He watched with frozen dread as the handle turned, pushing the door open without invitation and Simon knew it wasn't Ralph, nor was it his fiance, but the exact man he didn't want to see. Roger stared down at him, gray eyes and expression unreadable. The purple circles under his eyes seemed to have darkened since their time at the dinner table and Simon wasn't sure if it was an illusion of the lighting or his own fear. He watched as the other man slide down next to him, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. He reched into his pocket, pulling out a squished box of cigarettes and a black Bic lighter. He placed the deathly stick between his lips and flicked the flame to life, pushing the end of his cigarette into the fire. Simon watched with intent, not able to remember how to talk or think or breath. He ran a hand through is dark hair, basking in the silence and the scent to tobacco.

 

“I hate him.” Roger said after a moment, leaning forward to tap the excess ash onto the tiles. “I hate how he's smug and pretentious and tries so hard to fit into a higher social class. I hate how he parades you around like a trophy, makes you take his last name like he owns you.” He's angry, Simon can tell, but it goes farther than his usual anger and beyond the anger induced by jealousy. Part of him wants to keep hearing it, wants to figure how just how truly _enraged_ Roger is.

 

“I wish you wouldn't talk about him like that.” He said, voice just barely a timid whisper. “Just because I don't love him doesn't mean I'm not attached to him in some way. We've spent so much of our lives together, he _means_ something to me and I can't just cast him aside like a broken toy.” Roger took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he sighed in frustration.

 

“Blondie and the chief are so happy, you know?” He said, finally. Simon nodded. “They're like everything everyone wants in a relationship, as if they're some sort of fucking fairy tale, but it's not like that.” He took another drag, hands flexing like they always did when he was angry. “Chief, he's a bad person. The worst I think I've ever met and everyone's so blind to it because they don't understand him. No one really knows what he's like, the kind of twisted things that run through his head and Blondie, he's just as bad because he over looks it, he refuses to acknowledge it so they adopt a baby and they create this perfect dollhouse family that's just not them. And you and _him_ ,” He paused again, turning his head to stare at Simon directly in the eyes. “You two are starting to do the same fucking thing.” Simon stared back, trying to make sense of the words spilling from Roger's lips. Instinctively, as if he were in some sort of trance, he leaned over, covering Roger's mouth with his own, tangling his fingers in thick, black hair.

 

Roger kissed back with harsh vigor, pushing Simon onto his back and making the small boy land on the tiled floor. He wrapped his arms around Roger's neck, tongue trying to lick his way into the other man's mouth. He grinned, gripping Simon's jaw tightly and forcing it open, thrusting his tongue inside, licking the roof of the dark boy's mouth. His other hand ran over the front of Simon's jeans, pressing the heel of his hand into the other's groin, grinding it down to create delicious friction. Simon gasped, the sound much louder than he originally intended and he felt his cheeks flush red with a mix of want and embarrassment.

 

“Shh,” He murmured against Simon's lips, nuzzling his nose on the dark boy's cheek. “Wouldn't want the other to hear, would we?” He peppered kisses along the small boy's clavicle, sinking his teeth into a particularly tender area and making Simon cry out as his dragged his nails down Roger's back. The man above him stopped, lifting his head to stare at the other, eyes flashing with a fear inducing sort of intensity that made chills go up Simon's spine. “Do I need to gag you?” He asked, tone deathly serious. The dark boy pondered that suggestion for a moment, having never been gagged during sex before and not really minding the idea.

 

“Yes, sir.” He whispered, watching as Roger's lips twitched up into a smirk. He sat up, straddling Simon's waist as he undid the buckle on his belt, popping open a button on his jeans, pulling the leather through his belt loops. He folded the piece of clothing into fourths, holding it up to Simon's mouth.

 

“Bite.” He whispered in such a tone that made the dark boy thing he had no other option than to comply. He took the leather in his mouth, biting down as hard as he could to muffle any noises. Roger grinned, a wicked sort of smile that made Simon's heart stop. A rough, calloused hand ran up his shirt, over the soft caramel skin of his torso. “So beautiful,” He murmured, palming Simon's bulge with his other hand. “The prettiest thing I've ever touched.” He purred the last bit, lips against the shell of the dark boy's ear as he applied more pressure to Simon's dick. The small, dark boy tried to moan through the gag, arching up off the floor and rolling his hips into Roger's hand. The man above him got the message. “Turn over and get on your hands and knees.” He ordered, making Simon's face flush scarlet. He obeyed, trying his best to not let his arms give out from underneath him.

 

Roger's thumbs hooked under the waistband of his jeans, pulling them down in one smooth motion, exposing Simon's bare buttocks to the cool air. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin as a pair of cool hands smoothed over the skin on his bum, spreading his cheeks slightly. He twitched, unable to express his desire through moans and gasps of pleasure as he felt Roger's tongue run over his arse hole, lapping at the bundles of nerves surrounding his rim and tightening a bruising grip around his hips. Simon tried to push back on his tongue in an attempt to get more from the glorious sensation, but Roger's hold around his waist kept him in place. If he had been in the right mindset, Simon would have been over run by just how _wrong_ this was, how they were supposed to be enjoying the company of friends at a dinner party, how Simon's fiance was just a floor below them, but he could let himself think about that. He couldn't bring himself to be guilty anymore. All he could do was get lost in the pleasure, feel Roger's tongue mouth around his most sensitive areas, making him want to cry out. He longed to be touched, longed to feel the slide of a rough, calloused hand against his dick, to cry out Roger's name as his came.

 

The other man's tongue disappeared and was replaced by tow spit-slicked fingers, pressing into his entrance. Simon hissed, the stretch burning without the use of a proper lubricant, but his pushed back anyway, trying to get Roger to brush by that _one_ spot inside him. He could feel his cock throbbing, begging for attention and he was tempted to touch himself, to jerk himself off and stain _someone else's_ tiles with his genetic fluid.

 

“You're being so good, Simon,” Roger purred, curling his fingers up to brush by the smaller boy's prostate. “I'm going to fuck you so hard for being such a good boy.” Simon's breath hitched, his mind wandering to the others downstairs, wondering what they were thinking about the duo's absence. The thought didn't stay for long when Roger removed his fingers and slowly circled the tip of his dick around Simon's entrance, making the dark boy gasp around his gag and squeeze his eyes shut in anticipation. He pushed in, slowly at the first, then all at once, throwing Simon off balance slightly and making his legs turn to jelly. Roger snapped his hips up, deliberately missing Simon's prostate and smirking at the quiet whimper he could hear through the other's gag. One hand gripped Simon's waist while the other rested on his shoulder as he fucked into his, hips moving at an unforgiving pace. Simon reached for his dick, so unbelievably hard that he couldn't take it anymore. He was thrown off as Roger angled his hips differently, hitting his prostate dead on.

 

“Don't touch yourself,” He growled. “I want to make you come untouched.”

 

He snapped his hips again, burying himself to the hilt and watching with satisfaction as Simon's knees buckled underneath him. A wave of pure bliss washed over Simon, making every muscle in his body give out completely as he spilled out on to the floor beneath them. Roger pulled out, rolling the dark boy over on to his back, their eyes locking for a moment, a look a pure _madness_ in the other man's eyes that left Simon curious and terrified. The belt was removed from his mouth, making him gasp out a breath of relief. The eye contact didn't break as Roger began beating himself, pumping his dick until he released over Simon's face, coating the boy in the white, sticky substance.

 

For a moment, Simon considered the outcome of going downstairs with his skin covered in Roger's cum, a look of bliss on his face and his walk a strange sort of limp. He wondered just how horrified the others would be, the sort of fit his fiance would throw.

 

In his mind, the idea seemed perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't very clear, but the first voice Simon was talking about was, in fact, Maurice.


	3. Mr. Brightside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to do a fourth chapter because if I didn't this one would be ridiculously long, and honestly I just wanted to get this up. I've been working on it for too long.

When Simon finally gathered the energy to pick himself up off the tiled floor and drag his sore, bruise-covered body over to the bathroom mirror, he was repulsed by what he saw. He had never took the time to stare at his appearance whenever he basked in the glow of after sex, always assuming he looked a bit disheveled, with messy hair and little beads of sweat gathering at his forehead, but he had never expected to look so atrocious. His hair, usually sleek, soft curls of obsidian, was a rats nest of tangles. Every strand had been tousled and messed with, making his curls looks more like some sort of hideous cloud, covered in knots and frizz. Under his eyes, his purple bags had swollen and darkened from exhaustion, deep lines etched into his skin to emphasis just how exerted he was. Although his cheeks were still flushed and rosy, the rest of his skin had seemed to have lost any trace of color, transforming from rich, smooth caramel, to a pasty, ghostly cream. Roger's fluids had begun to dry on his face, having dripped down the bridge of his crooked, Indian nose, over his cupid's bow, and onto his chin. A part of him was tempted to lick the crusted over substance off his lips, but quickly decided against it. He rarely ever swallowed fresh cum, always cringing at the flavor the second it would hit his tongue, so he couldn't imagine how much he would hate the flavor of _dried_ semen.

 

“Good God,” He muttered to himself, cringing at the reflection staring back at him. He turned to Roger, unable to look at his appearance any longer. “Do I always look like this after sex?” He whispered, watching as a smirk stretched over the corners of his lover's lips.

 

“Pretty much,” He said, eyes grazing over Simon's physic. “Minus the dried cum, of course.” the dark boy groaned in frustration, taking another glance at his appearance before attempting to rinse off Roger's genetic fluids from his face. The water in Ralph's sink was freezing , causing goose flesh to prickle Simon's skin as he scrubbed his face clean, hoping washing up a bit would help improve his appearance. Once he deemed himself clean enough, he glanced back up at the mirror and attempted to fix the rat's nest that was his hair. His fingers snagged on a few of the knots, causing Simon to wince as he tugged at his curls, taming the frizz just a bit. His skin was still pale and his under eyes looks like a nightmare, but otherwise, his appearance was acceptable. He turned back to Roger, who was still seated on the floor, smirking slightly, the metal stud in his lip glimmering in the florescent light. “We've been gone a while,” Simon said after a moment of staring, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. “I hope no one is getting suspicious.” He chewed on his bottom lip, knowing full well that Ralph knew _exactly_ what was going on. Roger shook his head, pushing himself off the floor to tower over the smaller boy.

 

“Doubtful, from what I've heard from blondie is that you sneak off during parties and other social shit all the time. To the, this probably isn't anything new.” Simon sighed slightly, unaware that he had built up the reputation of being an absent party guest, even if it did serve to his advantage this time. “And chief probably assumes I'm off smoking some where in his house.”

 

“Don't you think he'll mind? There is a baby in the flat.” Roger shrugged, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

 

“As long as I'm not doing it over her crib, Merridew won't give a rat's arse. He's not picky about that stuff, unlike blondie.” Simon shifted, catching one more look at himself in the bathroom mirror, grimacing at the reflection. He had managed to tame the worst parts about his appearance, but his blatant imperfections were still on full display.

 

“I don't understand how you stand the sight of me after sex, honestly. This,” he paused, gesturing to his face. “is kind of disgusting.” Roger rolled his eyes, stepping closer to the dark boy to wrap his arms around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together as he pressed a peck to Simon's lips.

 

“You're gorgeous.” He muttered, nuzzling his nose into the smaller boy's neck, causing a shiver to go up his spine. Simon sighed, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck, letting his body relax as Roger's fingertips skimmed his sides. A kiss was pressed to the side of his neck, hot breath ghosting over caramel coloured skin. His rested the flats of his palms on Roger's broad shoulders, pushing at them softly to signal for the other man to move. He stepped back, untangling his arms from around Simon's waist and giving the smaller boy room to breathe.

 

“I should go back downstairs.” He paused, shifting slightly in his place, unsure of what to do next. Hesitantly, he reached out his hand to cup Roger's face, allowing his fingertips to graze over the curve of his cheekbone. He allowed their lips to meet, a soft, ghost of a kiss, before pulling away just enough so that their noses brushed together. “I love you.” He murmured, turning on his heal and slipping past the bathroom door before he could hear his lover's response.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, the other party-goers were still sitting around the dinning table, exchanging casual, pleasant conversations. Simon blushed upon entering, embarrassed to have been gone for so long as Ralph shot him a worried glance. However, no one else seemed to have noticed his absence, nor had they acknowledged his arrival as he retook his seat next to his fiance, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. Ralph yawned slightly, seeming to be growing tired from the alcohol as he ran thin, nimble fingers through his golden hair. Simon watched with an almost amaze as Jack's boss -the supposedly heterosexual man a good twenty-five years Ralph's senior- follow the movement with hungry eyes. The dark boy nearly scoffed, this sort of behavior from the general population being nothing new when it came to Ralph and his godly appearance. Simon just couldn't figure how the golden boy could possibly be so oblivious to it all. Sure, he could occasionally be quite air-headed, but really he should have noticed things like these at some point or another, shouldn't he?

 

“Oi, chief,” Called the cockney lad to Merridew from across the table. He was tan, but his skin wasn't the same golden, sunshine shade as Ralph's, drifting more to an olive hue, and he had a wild mop of dirty blond hair that look as though he hadn't taken a comb to it in ages. He was lanky, with long, noodle-like arms and an awkwardly lumbering physic, almost as if he had never grown out of his teenage body. His front teeth were crooked and slightly discoloured, as if he had dipped them in popcorn butter. Jack glanced over at him, one fiery brow raise in an _I'm listening_ expression. “Any clue where ol' Roger went off to?” Simon could feel the muscles in his body tense as Ralph's eyes wandered toward him, eye brows drawn together in a mix of concern and curiosity. Jack just shrugged and rolled his eyes, taking another swing from his beer.

 

“Who knows,” He said, waving his hand dismissively. “Lad's strange, kind of batty. He likes to wander off to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what. I don't really give a rat's arse as long as he's not smoking near my kid.” Simon had to suppress his giggles at just how _well_ Roger seemed to understand Jack's way of thinking. Ralph huffed next to him, snapping his attention away from Simon to scowl at his husband.

 

“You don't think he'd smoke in the flat, do you?” He asked, clearly concerned and some what annoyed. Jack shrugged again, fingering the glass of his beer bottle, as if he were getting ready to take another drink.

 

“Maybe, but he won't go near the nursery.” He reassured before deciding to take another drink. Ralph sighed, although Simon couldn't tell if it was from relief or annoyance. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his chair before beginning to stand in his place.

 

“I think I'll clear the dishes, if everyone's done.” He paused, waiting for any protests from the guests before turning to Simon and holding out his hand. “Would you mind helping me?” the dark boy nodded, taking his friend's hand and standing up in his chair. He gathered his own plate, along with his fiance's before following Ralph into the kitchen. He dumped the plates in the sink, ready to go back out to the dining room before his friend held out his arms to stop him. Simon paused, blinking up at the fair boy with worry weighing heavy in his heart.

 

“Simon,” He started, sounding too exasperated to be properly angry. “What are you doing?” the dark boy paused, unsure of how to answer as Ralph stared down at him expectantly. He chewed his bottom lip, unable to look away from his friend's concerned gaze.

 

“Helping you with the dishes.” He answered finally, trying to play it off as if he were clueless about Ralph's question. The fair boy's eyes drooped, shining with disappointment. Simon couldn't stand that look written all over his friend's face. He stepped back, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he tugged at his dark curls.

 

“I can't believe you,” Ralph said after a moment, no anger or cruelty behind he words, just sadness. “I can't believe you'd betray someone's trust right under their nose.” Simon had to swallow the lump in his throat, eye brimming with tears as he did everything he could to ignore that intense, blue gaze. He wished he had never told Ralph, wished he had never started any of this in the first place. He wanted to flee, to return to his flat and sleep the night away.

 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He lied, voice choking up as tears rolled down his cheeks, catching at his chin. Ralph crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes with a slight sneer.

 

“If you're going to lie to me, you could at least _try_ to make it sound convincing.” He mocked as Simon wiped away the drops of water forming at his chin. The fair boy sighed, resting his hand on Simon's shoulder as the dark boy allowed more tears to flow from his eyes. “I really am trying to be supportive because I want you to be happy, and if Roger makes you happy than I'll try to support you two to the best of my abilities, but _my God_.” He paused, retracting his hand and crossing his arms again. “You can't do things like that, you can't sneak off with your lover at someone's dinner party while your finance is a floor away. You can't just be so _openly_ unfaithful.” Simon froze, the tears having stopped as he wondered just how much his friend knew.

 

“Did you hear anything?” He asked, voice dropped low to a terrified whisper. Ralph shook his head, running a hand through his golden blond hair as he breathed out a sigh of annoyance.

 

“No, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together. I don't think anyone else noticed, if it makes you feel any better.” The dark boy allowed the tension in his shoulders to release with a breath of relief. He tousled his own black waves, tugging at the curls slightly as his eyes drifted to the right ever so slightly, staring at nothing in particular.

 

“I didn't mean for it to happen,” He said, voice small and timid. “I left because I was trying to _avoid_ it, but he followed me and,” his voice choked up again, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm the tremor in his hands before starting again. “We talked a bit. Well, he talked, which is weird because I think he's even more quiet than I am most of them time.” Simon swallowed, fidgeting in his place and refusing to allow his eyes to travel over to his friend. Instead, he cast his gaze to the floor, watching as his feet shifted awkwardly in place. “He was just so _angry_ and I didn't know what else to do because it seems like whenever he gets like that sex is the only thing that can calm him down.” He allowed his eyes to flick back up to the fair boy in front of him, who's gaze seemed to have softened. Ralph ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth -a tell tale sign that he was deep in concentration. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but before he could get the words out, the door to the kitchen was pushed open, revealing a wild mess of ginger curls. Jack paused for a moment, icy blue eyes darting between the two others in the kitchen, before heading over to the refrigerator. Ralph stared at his husband almost longingly, as if he wished to stride over and place a kiss to his lips.

 

“Am I interrupting?” Jack asked, his tone bored and nonchalant, as if he didn't care in the slightest whether or not he was. Ralph stepped toward him, wrapping his arms around the ginger's waist and pressing his cheek between his shoulder blades.

 

“Not at all,” He mumbled, almost sleepily. “We were just having a chat, guess time slipped away from us.” Jack grinned, straightening up and turning himself around so that he and Ralph were facing each other. He cupped the fair boy's cheek, running his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip. Simon couldn't help the pang of jealousy that tugged at his heart as he watched them, so utterly in love it was sickening. He had never seen two people so different, yet so perfect for each other, and a small, petty part of him wished that sort of love was _his_ experience and not Ralph's. To be perfectly clear, it wasn't Ralph's husband himself that Simon found jealousy in, because frankly he had never quite grown accustomed to Jack, the red haired man always making him feel uneasy whenever Simon found himself in his presence. No, it wasn't the husband himself, but rather the love they shared between each other that he longed for. He thought he could achieve the feeling with the man he was to marry. Perhaps if he were patient enough, he had thought for all these year, he could find true love and happiness for this person he was merely settling for. Then he had found Roger, who set his skin on fire and shot electricity through his veins with every touch they shared, who he had fallen desperately in love with , even against ever moral in his being. But even still, he couldn't experience what his dearest friend had, because every time he allowed himself to give into this temptation, every ounce of passion or love was overshadowed by an intense guilt.

 

He watched as Jack's lips captured Ralph's in a passionate kiss the fair boy seemed to melt into, his eyes fluttering closed as their noses brushed together. When they pulled away, Jack had a large grin plastered on his face as he nuzzled Ralph's neck. “I've been waiting to do that all night.” He murmured against golden skin, Ralph sighing slightly in content. They stood snuggled together for a while, long enough for Simon to start shifting awkwardly as his eyes darted around the room. He wasn't sure where to look as he found himself unable to concentrate on anything but the spouses in the room. Finally, much to Simon's relief, Ralph pulled away from his husband's embrace, turning on his heal to finish rinsing the dishes. Jack huffed slightly, an awkward snort that sounded more like he was choking on his drink as he turned to leave the kitchen, throwing a quick, “love you,” over his shoulder. Ralph's lips twitched up into a soft smile, glancing over his shoulder to grin full on at his husband.

 

“I love you, too, asshole.” Jack rolled his eyes before pushing his way out of the kitchen door, an undeniable grin plastered on his face. Ralph turned back to the dark boy, his smile fading into a more serious expression as he placed his hand on Simon's shoulder. “I can handle the rest of the dishes if you'd like to go back out. You missed quite a bit of conversation, after all.” The small boy cast his gaze down to the floor, unable to meet those judgmental blue eyes. He took a deep breath, as if the oxygen filling his lungs was a replacement for courage.

 

“Yeah, okay.” He said, slipping past the fair boy, not bothering to look him in the face as he left.

 

Retaking his seat next to his fiance proved itself easier than Simon thought it would be. Roger still had yet to come back down stairs, probably lighting a cigarette or wondering the grounds as a means to clear his head, which meant that the dark boy could allow his joints to release their tension. His fiance smiled at him, a warm, toothy grin that caused a wide blush to spread over Simon's cheeks as he allowed his lips to tilt up in response. Without warning, a wave of guilt crashed into him, twisting his stomach into knots as he tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He had just had sex with another man while his fiance was only a floor below, ignorant and blissful. He had to tell him, had to break off the engagement because he couldn't handle this overwhelming guilt any longer. Just.....

 

not yet. This wasn't the right place for a conversation of that sort ans Simon had no intention of making a scene at the Merridew's dinner party, especially with Jack's boss at the table. He'd wait until they got home, locked in the comfort of their flat and far away from the outside world. He cast his gaze to the table top, suddenly fascinated by the pattern etched in the table cloth's fabric as he began picking at the sleeve of his shirt. Jack's boss began blabbering on about economics and statistics, most likely having to do with his company, but nothing that peaked Simon's interest.

 

“Jack,” Jack's boss began, his voice etched with something cautious and almost judgmental and Simon had a feeling that they weren't discussing business anymore. “Are all of your friends so,” He paused, pursing his lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling. The dark boy had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes because he _knew_ what question was coming next, but still dreaded the moment he'd have to hear it out loud. “queer?” Was the word he finally decided on, which Simon found a bit blunt for someone who seemed to have been trying to choose his words so carefully. Jack, however, didn't seem fazed as he yawned as if the question bored him half to death. He drummed his fingers against the table, running his other hand through his hair.

 

“Those two are actually Ralph's friends,” he said, jamming his thumb in Simon's direction, to which the dark boy feel his cheeks flush in response. “And Maurice has a girlfriend.” The loud bloke smiled proudly, showing off his crooked teeth. Simon was a bit taken aback at the prospect of _anyone_ dating such a silly looking person. Perhaps that was a bit shallow of him, Maurice was nice enough and mildly humorous and he seemed to have a talent for picking up the conversation whenever it began to loll. Still, those didn't seem like traits that would make a person interesting enough to spark romantic feelings for. He must have been making a sour face because he felt an elbow jamming into his ribs and his fiance's eyes burning into him, as if saying _don't be rude._

 

“What about the other one?” Jack's boss continued, talking as if there wasn't anyone else in the room. “The one that disappeared?” Jack furrowed his brow, popping the knuckle on his index finger, a sound that make Simon wince.

 

“Roger? I dunno. He's quiet and likes to brood, doesn't really talk about that stuff. I think he might've been dating someone in uni, but I don't know anything about whoever it was.” Before the conversation could continue, Roger descended the stairs, a black sweat shirt swung over his forearm and his grey eyes gleaming with flecks of gold. Jack rolled his eyes, taking a swing of his beer and mumbling “speak of the devil.” Simon had to physically restrain himself from grinning, instead trying to look everywhere but those _damned_ eyes. Roger stopped somewhere off to the side of Merridew, their gaze meeting as if coming to some sort of mutual understanding.

 

Jack waved his hand absentmindedly, his expression filled with bored arrogance that gave Simon the sudden urge to roll his eyes. If he didn't know Ralph better, he would question what the blond could possibly see in someone like Jack Merridew, but he did and he had come to terms with his friend's bizarre lust when it came to people who radiated dominance and power.

 

“Heading out?” Jack asked, picking slightly at his nails, as if to emphasize how indifferent he was to Roger's presence. The other man nodded, grunting slightly. The sound caused dirty thoughts to bounce through Simon's mind as he tried to will his cheeks not to flush, reminding himself that _this was not the time for such things._

 

“I've got work soon.” Roger said, not even bothering to acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the room. He shifted his hold on the sweat shirt, his expression just as bored as Jack's, but without the aura of arrogance and general nastiness. Simon wasn't repulsed by Roger's indifference to his surroundings, wasn't disgusted by the way he tended to disregard most everything that didn't effect him directly, because to Simon it wasn't about asserting power. Roger wasn't the type to expect the world to revolve around him, he as the type to understand his place and not try to change it, which the dark boy always seemed to find utterly fascinating instead of repulsive.

 

As he tried to force himself not to stare as Roger walked out of the Merridew's flat, he felt a sharp elbow jab into his ribs unexpectedly and had to physically restrain himself from yelping in surprise. He looked over to his fiance, who had on a forced, polite smile that anyone with eyes could see though. Or maybe Simon was just too intuitive for his own good.

 

“Maybe we should getting going as well, it's getting awfully late.” He suggested, making Simon shrug in response. His fiance gave his an exasperated look before standing from his seat to shake Jack's hand. Merridew obliged, although he looked somewhat uncomfortable with the contact, as if he were above it. “It's been a pleasure, Jack, thank you for having us.” Jack retracted his hand, a grin dancing on his lips that may have meant to be polite, but instead looked snarky.

 

“Sure, it's been a pleasure having you.” There was nothing genuine about Jack's words, but Simon could appreciate the effort, considering it was a rarity to get such a _kind_ comment from one Jack Merridew, genuine or not.

 

“Simon, get your coat.” His fiance ordered, looking stern and partially annoyed that the dark boy didn't already have it in hand. He hesitated, not wanting to cause any sort of scene in pleasant company as he slowly stood from his seat. He wrung his hands together chewing slightly at his lower lips.

 

“Just um,” He paused, realizing that his words were too quiet to be heard and that eyes were on him, staring at his expectantly. He cleared his throat preparing to try again, but couldn't seem to force his voice to work. His fiance sighed.

 

“Speak up, Simon, we've _talked_ about this.” He bowed his head, embarrassed to have been belittled in front of his peers in such a way, but nodded slightly.

 

“Right, sorry, I have to say good bye to Ralph.” He prayed to whoever was listening that his voice was audible that time because he wasn't sure if he could emotionally stand to be chastised one more time in front of other people. His fiance didn't scold him, however, simply nodding and muttering “hurry up,” under his breath. Simon breathed a sigh of relief and rushed into the kitchen, just in time to catch his friend finishing up the last of the dishes. They locked eyes for a moment, Ralph's smile sweet and knowing.

 

“On your way out?” He asked, running a hand through his thick blond hair. Simon nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Right then, thanks for coming.” The dark boy stepped forward, opening his arms as an invitation to embrace and Ralph happily obliged, squeezing his small, frail body as if they'd never see each other again. “Good luck.” He whispered before letting go and shooing Simon out of the kitchen, shoving his coat in his arms.

 

The drive home was very nearly relaxing and quiet as Simon watched the lights of the city and passing traffic whirl by from the passenger side window, his cheek pressed against the palm of his hand and his elbow resting on the car's window pane. He liked when things were quiet like this, especially whenever he was coming back from a big function.

 

“You were awfully quiet tonight.” His fiance said. The smaller boy shrugged, not bothering turn his head and look at the other, instead focusing on the passing city.

 

“I'm always quiet.” He replied, his voice soft and far away, as if every word was coated in drowsiness. His fiance didn't respond for a while, allowing the silence to fully settle once again before disrupting it.

 

“We've talked about disappearing like that, Si,” He said, his tone laced with disappointment, as if he were a father scolding his young child. “It's rude to the hosts and it makes us look bad.” The dark boy paused, pressing his lips together in a firm line as he tried to hold himself back from uttering the words _'us or you?'_ Instead, he shrugged again, pushing a few black curls away from his forehead.

 

“I had to use the loo.” He said, his voice hardly even convincing to himself. “Then I got distracted by the city. They have a lovely balcony in the master suite that has quite the view. I lost track of time.” His fiance huffed, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at the small, dark boy in the passenger seat. His eyes were gray, like Roger's, but they lacked the emotional depth behind them, that calculating coolness as if he were analyzing everything in his surroundings, those flecks of gold that glinted whenever a mischievous thought passed through his mind. Those eyes weren't the same gray as Roger's, they were bleak and boring and held nothing exciting behind them.

 

“You're batty, absolutely mental.” He muttered, turning his focus back to the road ahead of them. “I ought to bend you over my knee and spank you.”

 

There was nothing in that suggesting that didn't positively _repulse_ Simon to his very core. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so nauseating if it were in a sexual sense, for he _quite_ liked it whenever Roger spanked him when they were in bed together, but there was nothing naughty between his fiance's words, no suggestiveness that glinted in his eyes. He was genuinely threatening to spank Simon as a form of punishment for briefly abandoning a dinner party, as if he were some sort of child. He curled his lip, his expression turning sour in distaste as he tried to keep himself from lashing out. He was in no mood to start a fight and wanted nothing more than for the conversation to end as soon as possible. His curled his fingers into his palm, clenching his fists in annoyance as he held his tongue. There really wasn't any use in firing back, no need to defend himself or begin an argument over such a minimal thing, but he couldn't help the irritation pulsing in his core. He furrowed his brow as the buildings passed by, scowling as if they had done something to offend him.

 

“Look at me when I'm talking to you, Simon.” His fiance snapped, voice raising like a father scolding his child. The dark boy huffed, turning his head to glance back at the man in the driver's seat. “I'm sick of watching after you like you're some sort of child. I don't want to have to be your parent any more, so how about you actually bother to learn a few manners and stop shutting down when I try to speak to you?” Simon paused, gritting his teeth as the irritation spread from his core through his body, pulsating through his bloodstream as it began to bubble into anger. He took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut as if not looking at his fiance's face would help cool his anger.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying his best to not let any annoyance slip past his lips. His fiance quirked a brow, coming to stoplight as he turned to look directly at Simon's face.

 

“Sorry?” He asked, that oh so mighty arrogance coating his tongue, as if he were entitled to more. “That's all you have to say?” He raised his brows expectantly, waiting for the smaller boy to say more, but Simon merely shrugged, not a single nice word coming to mind. His fiance laughed bitterly, turning back to the road as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “You're lucky I'm a patient man, Simon, because I can't think of any other decent soul who would be willing to put up with this behavior.” In that moment, Simon felt himself snap. Any ounce of patience or self control drained from his body as he threaded his fingers through his thick black curls, tugging at them in frustration. He screamed -an honest to God scream of frustration and anger- as he landed his foot on the dashboard, the low _thunk_ sound ringing through the car. Perhaps he was only proving his fiance right, acting like a spoilt child throwing a temper tantrum, but in that moment he couldn't have cared less. He couldn't hold this emotion, all this anger and frustration and seething _hatred_ in any longer, couldn't allow himself to be spoken to in such a demeaning way.

 

“Simon, calm down, you're acting like a _child_. Don't throw tantrums because you're not getting your way.” The dark boy froze, top lip twitching slightly as he tried to keep himself from blurting out something truly hurtful, tried to stop himself from telling his fiance about Roger.

 

“Don't you dare,” His whispered, words holding as much bite behind them as he could manage. “Don't you _dare_ talk to me that way, don't you dare treat me like I belong to you.” His fiance's nostrils flared, lips pressing together in a thin line as his fingers tightened against the steering wheel.

 

“Take a look at that ring on your finger and tell me what you think it means.” He seethed, voice scarily cool and collected. Simon's expression hardened as he twisted his engagement ring around his finger, picking at the diamond in the center.

 

“Engagement isn't ownership and if all you think of me is property, than you can have your stupid ring back.” his fiance laughed, as if the idea were somehow _hilarious_ to him, as if he truly believed he owned the smaller boy and that Simon couldn't possibly leave him.

 

“And what would you do without me, hm? You don't have a job-”

 

“Because you _told me_ not to work!”

 

“-you're sloppy, ill-mannered, batty, and absolutely dense. The only trait you having going for you is the fact that you're pretty, and any respectable person would get tired a pretty face quick. Who else would want you?”

 

 _Roger_ , Simon thought, not daring to say the word out loud as he clenched his teeth. He pulled the ring off his finger, pressing the gold band to his palm and staring at the jewelry. It was sickening, ugly and wrong, not the type of thing he'd want to wear proudly as he walked down the isle, waiting for a priest to bind them eternally. Simon shuttered at the thought, tempted to throw the gold band out the window. In that moment, he didn't want it anymore, didn't want to be married to someone who acted like his parent, who had to control his every move. He took a deep breath, slipping the ring back on his finger as he attempted to swallow his pride. He turned to his fiance, pulling on to the road leading to their apartment building, lips pressed in a firm line and eyebrows etched together.

 

“You're right,” he said, trying not to cringe at his own words, hating everything he had to do to keep the fight from escalating any further. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken out of term.” His fiance raised a brow, his shoulder relaxing at the apology.

 

“And?” He asked, that cocky, entitled tone back in his voice. Simon had to stop himself from sighing in frustration, not wanting his fiance to think the apology was ingenuine -even though it was.

 

“I shouldn't have abandoned the party.” Those damned lips turned up into an ugly smirk that made Simon want to ball his fists and clench his teeth. Somehow he managed to restrain himself from doing so, but couldn't help the slight sigh of frustration from escaping. Luckily, his fiance didn't seem to notice.

 

“ _And_?”

 

“I am,” Simon paused, taking a deep, shaky breath, not wanting to utter his next words. “incapable of surviving on my own. I need you to take care of me.” His fiance smirked, parking the car before unbuckling his own seat belt.

 

“Was that so hard?” He asked, opening the driver side door and stepping out on to the pavement. Simon shook his head, his lips pursed slightly as he opened his own door, running a hand through thick, dark curls. He felt his fiance's hand touch the small of his back, leading his to the lift up to their flat, his touch feather light and gentle. Simon tried to stop himself from stiffening, tried to will his shoulders to relax on the way up to their floor, tried not to pull away completely, even though every fiber in his being told him to do so.

 

The second they entered their flat, his fiance's lips were on him, a hand cupping his face as his was backed against the wall. Simon halfheartedly kissed back, resting the tips of his fingers on shoulders that didn't broad enough, didn't feel strong enough, didn't seem like they would support his weight if he were to wrap his legs around his partner's waist. He couldn't help but think of Roger, who always kissed with so much raw passion that the small boy could barely keep up, who always tightened his strong, calloused hands around Simon's waist as if he was afraid of letting go. He couldn't help but compare them, couldn't help but think of his fiance as so _inadequate_ , so boring, that he wanted nothing more than to pull away and go to bed. Everything about them was different, from the shapes of their lips -Roger's were fuller, always a little chapped, a bit warmer- to the way their noses locked with Simon's -Roger's straighter and slightly pointed, the bridge smooth as it locked with the dark boy's.

 

He couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from comparing him, couldn't contain the soft sigh of protest as his fiance carried him to their bedroom, couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut and let his mind wander to other things as as he wished the man moving above him, grinding his hips down and threading fingers through Simon's dark curls, was Roger instead. He let his finger tips lightly trail over the skin on his fiance's back, just barely brushing over the cluster of freckles dotting his shoulders as the other man pressed soft kisses to the side of Simon's neck. The smaller boy sighed, a sound that could've easily been mistaken for pleasure, but was actually out of boredom. He didn't want to be in this position, didn't want those lips pressed against his skin or those hips grinding against his own. But he kept his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together as he tried to control his breathing, tried to make it seem as though he didn't hate every moment of this.

 

Another kiss was pressed to his lips, tender and soft, without any of the passion Roger possessed, none of the fire and electricity that set Simon's skin ablaze, every fiber in his being tingling with energy. He felt nothing when his fiance touched him and began to wonder how he had ever managed to feel any sort of satisfaction with this man before he met Roger. Compared to his lover, Simon's fiance held no passion, no skill with his tongue or fire with his body. He was as boring of a sexual partner as a person could possibly be. And perhaps since Simon was only the mere age of twenty two -still young and inexperienced- he could blame his ignorance on the idea that he simply didn't _know_ what good sex was supposed to be like. He had only ever experienced what his fiance was like in bed before he met Roger, had only ever felt the touch of this man he held no affections for that treated him like a prize instead of a significant other, who made love without any sort of want or will as he never made an effort to explore Simon's body and find out what made him tick. So perhaps that was just what Simon had come to expect, that sex was simply something two people who loved each other _did_ -that it wasn't something to enjoy or long for, but simply an act as mundane as folding laundry or watching television.

 

Of course, he had always wondered the social appeal there was behind it if that was the case. He remember back in high school, when he was only fourteen and Ralph had just started his sexual relationship. He remembered the blissed out look his friend got whenever he simply _spoke_ of it, the way goose flesh would prickle his skin whenever Jack seemed to touch his shoulder or peck his cheek, as if simple contact was enough to make a shiver run up the fair boy's spine. Simon hadn't understood it then, and he _certainly_ hadn't understood it when his own intimate life began. Sometime in the middle of his university he life, he had come to the conclusion that he was asexual, for he couldn't think of a better explanation as to why he didn't seem to enjoy sex as much as his friends, but it still didn't seem right. The sex drive was there, it wasn't as though he never thought about it, never craved or desired for it, but whenever his desires were met, he was always left disappointed and unsatisfied. He understood now, knew why it had taken him so long to truly enjoy the act of sex in the way others always seemed to, and it had nothing to do with himself, but with the way his body reacted to his partner. And his body was reacting _horrifically_ to the man moving above him.

 

He couldn't stand to look into those dull gray eyes, could help but cringe when those thick, short fingers roamed the curves to his body, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine flecks of gold, and long, nimble fingers. He sighed slightly the second Roger's image entered his mind, thoughts of their previous rendez-vous' coming back him and causing Simon's cheeks to flush. He kissed back when he felt those lips -those horridly _wrong_ lips- cover his own, although the kiss held no enthusiasm behind it, instead seeming to react out of habit. Simon wasn't in the mood for sex in the first place, having only experienced intimacy not long prior, but he especially wasn't in the mood for having sex with his fiance, whom had just spent an entire car ride ridiculing and belittling the dark boy. He contemplated pushing at the other man's shoulders and telling him to stop, but a part of him knew that wouldn't do any good. If his fiance wanted sex, he would acquire it one way or another, regardless of whether or not Simon was in the mood.

 

Again, he was brought back to Roger, a flash of shaggy black hair and piercing gray eyes, a memory of snowy white skin covered with scars and bruises and ink that the smaller boy could never seem to take his eyes off of. He thought of those metal studs on his lover's hips that would grind into Simon's own soft skin when they were in bed together, the tattoo on his back that the dark boy loved to trace with his finger tips, memorizing the map of black ink and beautifully craved imagery. He longed to touch that tattoo, to feel those metal stud against his skin, for those sharp teeth to sink into his shoulder, leaving visible bitemarks that would leave Simon flushing more days. He wanted to touch Roger's skin, to hold him and run his fingers through the coarse black hair and listen as the other man would tell him how he got every scar and mark and bruise on his body, from all the fights he's had to break up at the bar, from all the beatings he received as a child, from all the low lives he's had to deal with on his own time. Simon loved those stories, gruesome as they could be. But they showed side of Roger that the dark boy couldn't help but feel _fascinated_ by. They showed when he snapped, when he finally let go of all his brooding anger and pent up rage and became something almost terrifying. And it wasn't as though Simon had fallen in love with that side of him, the side Roger himself seemed to be scared of and had deemed “monstrous”, but he had come to love every part of they man that side was attached to. As for his fiance, well, he couldn't say the same.

 

He gasped in surprise when he felt a finger prodding at him, coated in cold lube and rubbing slow circles around his rim. When had they gotten themselves into this position? Simon didn't remember taking his clothes off at any point, but when he looked down, he was completely naked. The man hovering above him was clad in only a pair of briefs, a wicked grin stretched across his lips that made Simon want to crinkle his nose in disgust. The finger pushed into him slowly, his body clenching with resistance. His fiance grumbled in frustration, trying to force himself past the dark boy's walls rather roughly, his touch desperate and angry as his finger nails scraped slightly at Simon's skin. The smaller boy sucked in a breath, balling his fists into the sheet below him as his body went rigid.

 

“Simon, what the hell?” His fiance asked in frustration, making the other boy crack his eyes open and peer at the man above him, face flushed red and furious. He shrugged, casting his gaze off to the right to avoid looking the other man in the eyes.

 

“I'm not really into it tonight?” It was more of a question than an explanation, as if he were begging for approval instead of retracting his consent. He didn't want to do this and a prayed this would be the time his fiance would accept that. He sighed in irritation, instead, retracting his finger and releasing the pressure inside Simon's body, which he felt grateful for. His fiance's jaw set in a firm line, teeth clenched together as he rolled his eyes and flopped down on to the mattress.

 

“Why are you so _useless_?”

 

* * *

 

Simon woke up the next morning to an empty bed and cold sheets. He tried to rack his brain, attempting to remember what day it was, but as far as he was concerned, his fiance shouldn't have been working. He still felt relieved to at least have the bed to himself for a bit, trying to let his eyes flutter closed and drift back to sleep before the memories of the previous night came rushing back to him. Simon groaned and rolled on to his back, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead as his brows drew together. He didn't want to remember right now, he just wanted to sleep and dream that the entirety of yesterday had never happened. He glanced over at his bedside table, a small yellow sticky note resting on the furnished wood. Simon blinked, trying to clear his vision as he lifted his head slightly, allowing his arms to blindly reach for the note. He forced his eyes to focus, roaming over the barely legible font that seemed to blur and float around his head.

 

_Got called into work for a last minuet emergency,_

_will be gone until sometime this afternoon. Love you!_

 

Simon wrinkled his nose at the declaration of love, crinkling the slip of paper in his palm and tossing it in the vague direction of his trash bin. So he had the house to himself today, a much needed perk after so many stressful recent events. He had had a difficult time falling asleep the night before, tossing and turning as his thoughts kept him awake and alert, making sure his brain was running a million miles a second. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from contemplating his relationship with his fiance verses his relationship with Roger, dreading how much _happier_ the man who wasn't supposed to be his in the first place made him. His fight with his fiance had only confirmed things, only made his plan -or _Roger's_ plan, rather- more absolute. He had to leave his fiance, had to find a way out of this miserable relationship he had been stuck in for far too long, blissful unaware of how truly dissatisfied until another he loved came along.

 

Still, it was a difficult topic to approach. Part of him wanted things to end in a nasty manner, with Simon throwing his ugly engagement ring out the seventh story window of their flat, screaming about how he had never loved the man he was supposed to marry. It was the spiteful side of him, the side that wanted to prove he _could_ make it on his own, that someone else was _capable_ of loving him other than a man who wanted to parade him around like a trophy. However, he couldn't stop but feel a pang of guilt pluck his heart strings whenever this idea came to mind, for his sentimental side was far superior to his spiteful one. As much as he didn't want his fiance involved in his life anymore, as much as he hated having to stare at the entitled, arrogant, _boring_ face, he couldn't bring himself to be so cruel, to stoop to such a level. He wanted to talk, to explain that they weren't the right match for each other and that the relationship only seemed to hurt the both of them, even if that was entirely false, even if this partnership was only harmful to _Simon's_ well being.

 

He sat on the edge of his bed for too long, staring at the engagement ring on his bedside table, scowling as if this were all the jewelry's fault. The diamond in the center glistened in the morning light, a rainbow of gorgeous colours dancing across the clear stone in a dance that would have been beautiful if it had been placed a top any other gold band, displaying itself inside any other piece of diamond. Instead, Simon couldn't view it as anything but wrong, ugly, _disgusting_ , as his nose wrinkled in distaste. Next to the ring, he spotted his phone, still hooked up to its charger and resting peacefully. He reached for it, taking a deep breath as he closed his fist around the rectangular object before unlocking it. He had a few notifications, mostly texts from his fiance that he decided not to open and other various notifications from different apps that he never seemed to actually use. He ignored them, instead going to his contacts and dialing Roger's number.

 

It was a stupidly impulsive decision, they type of thing he would chastise himself for later, but he needed to speak to him, needed to hear his gruff, smokers voice helping him find the right way to break things off with his fiance. He felt his heart pounding against his sternum as the dial tone sounded off, his breaths becoming more and more uneven with each passing ring. Finally, Roger answered and Simon could let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Hello?” His usually gruff voice was even lower, more gravelly and dripping with exhaustion. Simon mentally kicked himself, realizing that he had just woken his lover from much needed sleep, but he took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice from shaking.

 

“Can you come over?” He asked, voice soft and meek, as if he were afraid someone else would hear. There was a silence on the other end of the line that must have only been a few seconds, but felt like an eternity to the dark boy.

 

“To... your flat?” Roger asked, his voice confused and sleep-dazed. Simon moistened his lips.

 

“Um, yeah, my fiance is out for the day and I just,” he felt it, the catch in his throat at the verbal mention of his fiance as he remembered the fighting, the anger, the frustration of last night. He was getting enraged all over again as he tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “I need to see you.” He finished, cringing at the croak of his words and the catch in his voice. He heard a slight shift on the other end of the line, fabric rubbing against fabric, and he realized Roger was getting out of bed.

 

“Right,” He said, another shift muffling his words just ever so slightly. “Just give me a bit to get ready. I'll be over there soon.”

 

“I can make you breakfast.” Simon blurted, immediately feeling his cheeks go red as Roger laughed on the other end.

 

“Don't put yourself through the trouble,” he said, a grin obvious in his voice. “I'll be fine.”

 

“It's not trouble at all,” Simon continued, feeling a swell of nervous energy bubble beneath his sternum, hands shaking slightly. “I just woke up myself and I haven't eaten yet, so I may as well cook for you, too. I can make pancakes, or-”

 

“Simon,” Roger interrupted, making the dark boy let out and embarrassing squeak as he cut himself off. “stop talking.” Simon's cheeks burned, the ball of nerves feeling like a balloon someone had just popped with a sewing needle. He bit his lip, letting out a bubble of nervous laughter.

 

“Uh, right, see you soon then?” Roger hummed in affirmation, not bothering to give a verbal reply before hanging up. Simon sighed to himself, wondering why he had to be so awkward when it came to any sort of interaction.

 

Waiting for Roger was a painstakingly long process filled with nervous energy and jitters that the dark boy couldn't seem to shake. He sat on his sofa, drumming his fingertips against his knees and shifting awkwardly as he tried to find a comfortable position. Comfort was virtually impossible, however, considering how quickly his heart was pounding against his chest and how easily his breath seemed to catch in his throat. It was strange that he was feeling so nervous, considering he grown a sort of comfort around Roger that he couldn't experience with anyone else, but he couldn't seem to shake the jitters. There were risks to having his lover come over, the main one being the chance that his fiance could come home early and catch them in the act. The thought terrified Simon, but it also sent an electric current down his spine, leaving him tingling with excitement. The mere possibility of being caught added and element of danger and excitement, the sort of risk the dark boy could only dream of before he met Roger.

 

He sat bolt up right as the sound of a harsh knock rang through the apartment, causing Simon to shakily stand from his place, fingers closing over the door knob. He couldn't stop his harsh breaths as a million doubts raced through his mind, screaming at him that this was a rotten, lousy idea and would only serve to bite him in the arse later. He shook the thoughts from his mind forcefully, throwing the door open as his eyes met those beautiful, _beautiful_ gray ones, dark circles prominent and a slight stubble on his chin, creating a rugged sort of handsomeness that caused tingles to shoot up Simon's spine. He grinned, pulling Roger into the flat by the collar of his t-shirt, pressing their lips together furiously, desperately.

 

Roger didn't protest, didn't pull away or laugh at Simon's eagerness, didn't question what was going on, just tightened his hands around the dark boy's waist, long, nimble fingers curling into the fabric of his white undershirt as they stumbled back in a clumsy haze of desire. The kisses remained ferocious, all teeth and tongue as they held on to each other like they feared of letting go. Simon nipped at the corner of his lover's bottom lip, just above where that diamond pierced his flesh, and tugged, eliciting a low grown from the taller man's throat. He had learned that trick quickly in their time together, finding that the skin near any of Roger's piercings were always particularly tender and sensitive, and Simon took joy in making this quiet, intimidating man fall apart.

 

They stumbled on to the couch, the smaller boy landing flat on his back, fingers still curled into Roger's shirt collar. Their bodies were pressed together now, with the other man settled between Simon's thighs, rutting ever so slightly against him. They broke apart then, twin grins splitting their faces, cheeks flushed and chests heaving with each panting breath. Roger tucked a few strands of hair behind Simon's ear, letting his hand trail down to cup the dark boy's face. His gaze was intense and calculating, as if he were trying to figure the perfect way to make the smaller boy _scream_. Simon's breath hitched when Roger dipped his head down, pressing kisses along the side of his neck, gentle and sweet. He ran his fingers through thick locks of black hair, tugging when sharp teeth dug into his flesh and feeling the pull of Roger's lips as he smirked.

 

“Want,” Simon panted, making his lover glance up at him, brows raised in question and a soft smirk on his lips. He swallow and took a deep breath, his voice shaky and on the verge of incoherence. “want you.” Roger's smirk only grew as his fingertips trailed feather light touches over the elastic of the smaller boy's pajama bottoms, threatening to dip lower, to reach into his underwear and...

 

“Bedroom?” Roger asked. Simon blinked, as if he hadn't heard him correctly. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, so _lost_ in the tension of the moment that he hadn't been able to fully comprehend what his lover was saying. He furrowed his brows, biting the corner of his lip and trying not to stare into those stupid, intense, gorgeous gray eyes. The bedroom seemed too intimate all of a sudden, as if he couldn't bring himself to share such a privet thing with this man he was so hopelessly in love with. It seemed as though it were taking things too far, as if sleeping with Roger in a a bed he shared with someone else, someone he was very nearly bond to, than he would be crossing a line. He swallowed thickly, opening his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He wanted to, but he body wouldn't seem to let him, as if telling him _you've gone far enough._

 

“Carry me?” He asked, trying to play himself off as playful and cheeky instead of petrified. Roger smirked, standing from his place on the sofa and looping one arm under Simon's knees and the other around his shoulder blades, lifting him off the piece of furniture with ease. The dark boy wrapped his arms around his lover's neck and hugged himself close, burying his face in the dark fabric of Roger's shirt. “It's down the hall. First door on the right.” He mumbled, not sure if his voice was loud enough to be heard, but the man holding him nodded as if he understood.

 

The bedroom was a mess, with clothes strewn about the floor and the bed unmade, but Roger didn't seem to care as he set the dark boy down on the mattress and crawled over him, straddling his waist. Simon propped himself up on his elbows, grinning before he pressed their lips together, this kiss softer, sweeter than before. His finger played with the baby hairs on the back of Roger's neck, stroking them as their tongues rolled together like ocean waves. He pulled away, just barely, so their hot breath still mixed together and the tips of their noses were still pressed to each other.

 

“Wanna ride you.” He breathed, biting his lip and letting his eyes flick up to Roger's face. The taller man's lips twitched slightly, his eyes smug as his fingertips lightly trailed up and down Simon's sides. His cheeks were flushed red, the color bright and contrasting nicely with his fair skin.

 

“I'll never say not to that.” He murmured, rolling over on to his back and watching with a smirk as Simon crawled on his lap, straddling his waist and rolling their hips together. He reached for the hem of the dark boy's shirt, bunching the fabric underneath his palms before pulling it over his head, leaving Simon bare-chested and exposed. One hand rested on Roger's shoulder, the other gripped the headboard as he continued rolling his hips, meeting his lover's skilled thrusts and creating delicious friction. He watched with wide eyes as the taller man sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor before he wrapped his arms around Simon's waist, pulling their chests flushed together. The dark boy let out a sound that was something between a yelp and a moan as their lips locked together, the kiss messy and desperate. He grabbed the sides of his lover's face, never wanting to let go, to lose this heat or closeness. Their hips continued meeting each other, Roger's erection rubbing against the cleft of Simon's arse, shagging him through their cloths.

 

With a moment of hesitation and a bit of protest surging through his veins, the smaller boy slid off of his lover's lap, kicking off his pajama bottoms and underwear before reaching for the lube. When he turned back to meet Roger's eyes, blown and staring in astonishment, he felt a twinge of modesty pang at his heartstrings. He waited for the other man to kick his own bottoms off before retaking his place in Roger's lap, this time no layers of fabric keeping their skin apart.

 

“How do you want it?” Roger breathed, warm breath ghosting over the small boy's lips, and voice husky and lust filled. Simon hummed, grinding his arse down against Roger's cock as he squeezed a good amount of lube on his fingers.

 

“Sweet,” he said, after a moment of thought. “do you wanna watch while I stretch myself?” Roger bit his lip and nodded, shifting enough to give Simon room to turn, arse in the air and back to his lover. He reached behind himself, circling his index finger around his rim, twitching at the contact with his sensitive nerve endings. He groaned as he pushed his first finger in, curling it in a _come here_ motion as he massaged his own walls, brushing by his prostate ever so slightly. He groaned, Roger's hands clamped around his hips tight enough to leave bruises as he added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch himself properly.

 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Roger asked, his voice low and seductive, sending a shiver up Simon's spine.

 

“Wish it was you,” he answered, honestly. “it always feels better when it's you.” Even though he couldn't see his face, he knew Roger's smirk was smug and wide because he had come to learn his lover's body well. He slowly pulled his fingers out of his own body, whining at the loss of being filled before he turned back around and retook his place in Roger's lap, lining himself up with the taller man's cock. He gripped the headboard behind them for balance as he slowly sunk himself down, taking him inch by inch before bottoming out entirely. Roger's groaned, hands firm around his waist as he gave Simon a moment to adjust. Slowly, the dark boy began moving his hips, a slight bounce in his movements as he worked himself on Roger's dick. He could feel the pressure building in his stomach, his hands tightening around the headboard as Roger lay back down, meeting his movements with slow, deep thrusts.

 

He let out a yelp of surprise as his lover's face broke out into a wide grin and his hips jerked up without warning, stuffing Simon full and hitting his prostate dead on. The smaller boy lost his balance, desperately grabbing on to Roger's shoulders as he tried to keep himself from toppling over. He couldn't keep up with his partner's sudden speed, the rough, unforgiving pace of each thrust as he seemed to abuse Simon's arse, fingers digging into the soft skin there enough to leave dark bruises. He clenched his knees around Roger's waist, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried out, bucking his hips and trying to grind down at the same time. He was getting closer as the heat in the pit of his stomach bubbled, and..... and.....

 

And the sound of a throat clearing from across the room froze him in his tracks.

 


	4. Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have without Taking Her Clothes Off (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! Thank God because this story was beginning to stress me out. Well, here you go, the last chapter. It's a bit shorter than the others because I just wanted to wrap things up. Anyway, please enjoy!

For a horrifying moment, Simon froze in his place, bile rising up in the back of his throat and tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn't seem to force himself to turn around, couldn't stand the idea of watching his fiance's eyes fill with betrayal . He gripped Roger's shoulders, nails digging into pale, battered skin as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a pair of strong hands rub soothing circles in his back, a quiet voice muttering words that the smaller boy couldn't seem to make out. Finally, he shifted, an awkward transition of weight as he pulled off of his lover, his entire body flushing bright red with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his sternum, his breathing heavy and laboured as he pulled his bed sheets around his body, covering a good portion of his naked form.

 

His fiance stood in the corner of the room, just in the doorway, shell-shocked and frozen. Something blazed in his gray eyes, the intense sort of anger Simon had come to associate with Roger, not the man he was supposed to marry. They didn't say anything for a moment, no one so much as shifting or parting their lips as the small boy and his fiance seemed to stare each other down in shock. He cast his gaze toward Roger, eyes pleading and helpless as those gold flecks sparkled with something, an emotion that was a strange mix of pity and mischief and it made Simon shiver. Finally, their gaze broke and Roger turned back to the man in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips as the diamond stud piercing his skin glistened in the light. He bent to grab his clothes off the floor, pulling on his jeans and underwear just slowly enough to be considered taunting. Simon watched with fascination, trying to keep his focus on anything but the impending elephant in the room. Finally, Roger grabbed his shirt, pulling the fabric over his head as he brushed by Simon's fiance, shooting him a look full of pure _hate_ as he slipped by.

 

Another moment passed after the door shut, no sound traveling throughout the room other than the deafening noise of the dark boy's heart beat in his ears. He bit the corner of his lip, running his hands through his hair as he tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. He fiance took a step toward him, his expression stony and impossible to read, which only seemed to make Simon more nervous. His fiance opened his mouth to speak, but with a rush of courage, the dark boy manged to blurt the words he had been meaning to say since the day they met.

 

“I don't love you.” He was shocked for a moment, partly at his own bravery for finally announcing his true feelings, but also for the look of pure, unadulterated _rage_ that flashed in his fiance's eyes. Sure, he wasn't expecting something of this nature to end well -he couldn't think of a single scenario where it would- but he wasn't prepared for the blood-boiling sneer that was being thrown his way.

 

“You're a rat, Simon,” his fiance said, voice catching his his throat as tears glistened in his eyes. “A dirty, good for nothing snake. How does it feel to be the scum of the Earth?” Strangely enough, the words posed no effect on him, and he merely shrugged with indifference. He thought something like this would be harder, that perhaps he would be more compassionate when it came to his fiance's feelings, be he felt more relieved than anything else, like he was finally doing something he'd been putting off for years.

 

“How does it feel to be wrong?” He retorted, because, really, he couldn't take the insults anymore. He couldn't tolerate sitting idly by as abusive words were thrown his way. And, yes, this was a special occasion where his fiance had every right to be angry, but he had already gotten this far and his moment of bravery continued to stretch on. His fiance blinked in surprise, looking taken aback, but his expression quickly morphed into a sneer.

 

“ _Excuse_ me?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly and Simon winced, knowing he was about to cry.

 

“You were _wrong_ ,” he stated again, sitting up a little bit straighter. “You told me no one else would ever love me. You told me no one else would ever even _put up_ with me, but Roger, he-” his sentence was cut short by a bitter scoff, his fiance crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“You think that _beast_ loves you? That tattooed freak who works the night life? You would rather be with someone like that than someone like me?” Simon's mouth tightened, his fingers curling into the fabric of the bed sheets.

 

“Don't talk about him like that,” he muttered, feeling the first few drops of tears well up in his eyes. “He's twice the person you'll ever be.” His fiance scoffed, rolling his eyes as he caught Simon's wrist in his hand, nails biting crescent-shaped divots in the flesh. The dark boy tried to struggle away, but the man in front of him was stronger, holding on to him like a hunter would its pray. Something gleamed in his bleak, gray eyes -something Simon didn't quite recognize, but caused the anxiety coursing through his veins to strengthen.

 

“You think you're getting away with this, aren't you?” His fiance snarled, the look in his eyes down right murderous, the sort of rage that reminded Simon of a monster. Suddenly, his bravery vanished and he was left a small, quivering boy, naked and vulnerable at a hunter's will. He would bend if he had to, any strength and will having left his body the second he realized he was powerless -the second he realized he no longer had Roger by his side, acting as a safety blanket. He had never felt so much fear in the presence of another human being before, never felt like such a helpless creature at his fiance's mercy. “People like you -people like _him-_ sicken me to my very core. The two of you are heathens, you have no place in society. No place in my presence.” Simon pressed his lips together, because, really, he understood the anger. It wasn't misplaced or unprovoked, and really he wasn't too hurt by the words because even though he didn't believe he _deserved_ them, he had expected repercussions for his actions.

 

“That's not unfair,” he said, voice surprisingly calm and stable. “I wronged you. I made a choice that hurt you, but I'm not going to call my actions a mistake and I'm not going to apologise.” The grip around his wrist softened just enough for the dark boy to pull his hand free. The look on his fiance's face was dumbstruck, too surprised to even bother shifting, to even talk back. An anger still blazed behind his eyes, but it had softened significantly. “I'm not happy with the way I've been treated in this relationship, I'm not happy with the overt power dynamic between us, with the authority you hold over me. I'm not happy with the way you think of me as more of a prize than an individual, and I didn't realize how much I've been wanting to leave you until I found Roger.”

 

“How long has this been going on?” His fiance croaked, voice broken with tears and heartbreak. Simon shrugged, pursing his lips slightly.

 

“Too long,” he said, finally, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he avoided his fiance's gaze. “I should have ended things between us earlier, but I had placed a lot of co-dependence on you and I was scared of what would happen if I was on my own.” He watched as that jawline that wasn't _close_ the the sculpted perfection of Roger's clenched in an uncomfortable looking angle, gray eyes -typically bland and uninspiring- blazing with a sort of heat that the small boy found utterly terrifying. He couldn't seem to breathe, his oesophagus constrained as if it were forcing him not to sob. He absentmindedly touched his hand to his throat, swallowing thickly as he allowed his eyes to dart away from that intense, fiery gaze.

 

“I can't believe I ever thought you were worthy of my companionship.” His fiance spit, obviously trying to shoot venom with his words and acid in his gaze. But Simon felt nothing aside from utter amusement at how utterly _absurd_ that comment was. He stood then, dragging the sheets with him to preserve his own modesty as he wrapped the white linen around his waist. His fingers stroked the other man's cheek, a gesture that could have easily been misinterpreted as soothing, but was meant to mock and scorn. He wasn't sure what had come over him suddenly, but it was a burst of malicious intent that seemed to scream _Roger_ , a thought that Simon would have to push aside and deal with at a later date. He leant down to his now-ex-fiance's ear, breath ghosting over the skin as he whispered his final words of goodbye.

 

“And I can't believe how _horrific_ you are in bed.” He straightened then, a smirk on his lips as he watched the other man's face twist into a look of anger and shock, skin flushed beat root red and lower lip quivering in rage. Simon quickly picked up his clothes from the floor, making his way toward the door and ignoring the other man's words of angered protest as he exited for good, leaving his ring and his old life behind.

 

Surprisingly enough, Roger was in the sitting room, back pressed against the far wall near the front door and jumper thrown over his shoulders. His hair had been disheveled, like he'd been running his fingers through it nervously, and his eyes grazed Simon's body as he entered the room, lips tilting up in a slight smirk. Simon couldn't help but grin back, a pile of clothes clutched in one hand and the other hand being used to keep the sheet from sliding off his body.

 

“I have to get dressed,” he glanced back at the bedroom door, the man he used to be engaged to still inside. “Maybe you should wait outside the flat.” Roger nodded, lips pressed together in an unreadable sort of expression, but he didn't say anything else -simply slipped out the front door and left Simon to his own devices. He quickly pulled on his street clothes, running his fingers through his hair a few times to smooth it out properly and make it look less like he had just experienced a rather good fuck before joining the taller man outside. They acknowledged each other for a moment too long, as if suddenly things had grown exceptionally awkward between the two of them, as if now that they _could_ properly be together, they no longer wanted to. It was Roger who ended up breaking the silence, with was an event that rarely ever occurred.

 

“What do we do now?” He sounded strangely unsure of himself and their whole situation, which Simon found almost laughable. He only smiled instead, a soft sort of reassuring tilt of the lips that he hoped conveyed some sort of comforting message.

 

“Do you mean for the rest of the day or in general?” His voice was a bit teasing, an attempt to lighten the sullen mood, and Roger managed a weak smile back. He pushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes as he exhaled loudly.

 

“I mean _us_. What do _we_ do?” Simon rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, pursing his lips slightly. He let his hand rest on Roger's forearm, gazing up into those gorgeous gray-gold eyes and wondering how someone could be so _beautiful_.

 

“I don't about you,” he started, taking a step closer and watching as the other man's brow furrowed. “But _I'd_ like to go back to your flat, I think we started something we didn't quite finish.” Roger flashed a cheeky sort of grin, pulling the smaller boy flush against him by his waist, any sense of doubt or insecurities having completely left his demeanor.

 

“We were rather rudely interrupted, weren't we?”

 

* * *

 

“A-ahh~ Roger, fuck,” Simon had completely lost his ability to control his noise level, the relentless, downright _brutal_ pace of the man above him, slamming into his body at a sort of force that he would've never though possible had they not met, leaving his body an incoherent mess. It was nicer without the guilt, much easier for the dark boy to lay back and enjoy himself without the thought of a fiance gnawing at the back of his mind. Instead, all he could focus on was Roger's fingers digging into his hipbones, Roger's teeth biting at shoulder, Roger's cock slamming into him like a _savage_. He ran his nails down the length of the other man's back, digging into the skin harshly as sharp as teeth pierced his own flesh. He _screamed_ , trying to roll his hips in a way that could meet his boyfriend's thrusts, but finding himself unable to keep up as his limbs turned to putty and his body spasmed with the shock of a thousand electric currents. Roger had hit that spot inside him, abused it in a way that no other person could , and Simon came, his voice breaking at the sheer intensity of the situation. Roger kissed him hard as he continued to thrust in and out of the darker boy's body, chasing his own high before finally slipping over the edge and spilling inside.

 

They laid together for a moment, panting and sweaty and covered in each other's fluids, but still holding on to one and other as if they had been glued together. After a moment of quiet, listening to nothing but the him of traffic outside Roger's window and the man's breathing just beside him, Simon finally caught his breath, wiggling out of the strong embrace.

 

“We ought to clean up.” He said, surprised at how sleepy his voice sounded. Roger threw and arm over his eyes dramatically, sighing with a sort of faux annoyance that had the dark boy grinning. “Come on, then, get up. We can shower together, if you'd like.” Roger seemed to perk up at that suggestion, eyes wide and mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

“Mm,” he hummed, pushing himself to a full sitting position as his eyes met Simon's. “You, naked, covered in steaming hot water, running your hands all over yourself? I would be some sort of stupid person to refuse.” Simon grinned, grabbing the other man's hand and pulling him flush against his chest. Their lips met, open mouthed and messy as his fingers curled through thick, dark hair. He rubbed feather light circles into Roger's cheekbone, sucking the taller man's bottom lip between his teeth and grinning at the sound of the low groan rumbling in his throat. Simon pulled away then, a Cheshire grin splitting his face, his cheeks dusted red. Their eyes stayed on each other just a moment too long, lingering as if to say words that couldn't quite escape each other's lips. Roger ran his tongue over his lips in concentration, gray eyes shinning gold and bright and beautiful as Simon searched his voice, breath seemingly caught in his chest. He squeezed his lover's hand, pulling him toward the bathroom, suddenly feeling hot and sticky and disgusting.

 

“Simon,” Roger said, voice having lost that usual confidence, instead sounding timid, nervous. The dark boy's eyes flicked up to the other's face, wide and shinning bright as his lips tilted up to a small, sweet smile. “I love you.” It was the first time he had said those words, the first time they rang across Simon's ear drums like a symphony and the dark boy felt his heart stop in his chest. He beamed then, wide and filled with joy as he pressed a soft kiss to Roger's lips.

 

“Yeah, I know, dummy.” He said, watching as those beautiful gray eyes rolled in annoyance, but his lips tugged into a shallow grin. “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

Simon hadn't expected for them to move as quickly as they did, having made the silent agreement to move in together within the first day, planning regular date nights within the first week, and and having already started discussing a future together within the first month. The smaller boy knew that it was just a matter of time before he had another ring on his left hand, knew that it wouldn't be long before he was completely bound to another being, but he was glad it hadn't happened quite yet. He had learned to enjoy this new found freedom of his, having already found a small, part time job at a department store not too far from their apartment and feeling truly free for the first time since his years in high school. He had rekindled his connections with Peter and the twins, seeing as Roger had no intention of dictating his friendships and Simon had quite missed their company. He watched Cathrine grow, occasionally baby sitting for the Merridew's on weekends, which Roger liked to complain very loudly about. He had made it evident that he had no intention of raising a child of his own, that -unlike Jack- he refused to be tied down by that sort of responsibility. Simon had only smiled at the time because he figured that he'd find a way to change his love's mind eventually.

 

It's strange, really, how life can completely fuck someone over at the best of times. Simon figured that it would only be a matter of time before he ran into his ex-fiance around town, but lost in his daze of happiness, he had completely forgotten about the other man's existence. It was foolish of him, in all truth, a stupid thing to get so wrapped up in his own affection that he would be able to completely forget about a man he hurt so deeply. At the time, he had managed to convince himself that he didn't care about that man's feelings, that he was a monster and deserved to be hurt. But recently, Simon had come to the conclusion that _no one_ deserved that sort of hurt and a strange sense of guilt had begun to weight him down. Granted, he was happy with his job and his flat and his wonderful boyfriend, and truthfully, that guilt faded every time he looked into those gray eyes. He had made the right choice to pick Roger, he knew that, but he still couldn't help but feel as though eh should have handled the situation better.

 

He ran into his ex-fiance at the supermarket, of all places. He had decided to make dinner that night, perhaps light a few candles, sprinkle rose petals over the carpet, watch a few movies together- the picture of something truly domestic. He felt a bit like housewife whenever he went out shopping, what with his little grocery list and a cart filled with vegatables and white wine, but there was something bizarrely calming about grocery shopping- as if he had finally learned how to be a proper adult. Of course, he had _just_ turned twenty-three and maybe that was a bit young to fully grow up, but he had reached the age where all of his friends had begun putting their lives together and he was in a serious relationship, so he figured adult responisbilites came with that. The calm was interupted the second he spotted that man across the asile, looking over the nutrition facts of a box of Shreddies. Simon felt his blood run cold at the sight, trying his best to quickly turn his cart around and get away before the other noticed he was there, until

 

“Oh, Simon!”

 

He froze, that voice all too familiar, all too _fake_. He turned, hoping his face looked more like a smile than the grimace it threatened to become as he watched that man stride over to him, a large smile plastered on his face. Simon lean tugged a few stray strands of hair behind his ear, leaning on his cart awkwardly, the wheels threatening to roll away. He scrambles to keep the object in place, feeling an embarrassed flush spread over his cheeks as he straightened, his ex's face split in an amused grin.

 

“Clumsy as ever, I see.” He joked, which Simon didn't find to be very funny. He remembered when 'clumsy' was the worst insult that man could throw at him, when he was told he was too much of a klutz to work a proper job, too scatter brained and awkward to do anything right. _Batty, clumsy, useless._ But, as someone too terrified of conflict to start any sort of spat in a public setting, he forced his widest smile and awkwardly laughed along with the other man, running his hand through his hair nervously.

 

“I, uh,” he tried to think of the proper thing to say in that situation, but was quickly cut off by his ex's demanding,

 

“Speak up, will you?” And immediately, his gaze hardened. Of course. He hadn't changed at all. He still had this absurd idea in his head that he held some sort of authority over the dark boy. Well, Simon would have to shut that down rather quickly.

 

“I got a tattoo recently.” He said, watching the other man's face morph into one of uncomfortable disgust. “Well, actually, Roger and I got tattoos together. Not matching, of course, because that would be silly, but his is positively lovely, a lighthouse running up the inside of his left forearm.” Simon turned his arm over, rolling up the sleeve of his black knit sweater and gesturing to the area he described. His ex still stood in a stunned sort of silence. “It's a cute story, really. He says it's for me, chose a lighthouse because he says I've brought a little ray of life into his life, which used too be bleak and dark, and got it on his left arm since I'm left handed. Isn't that sweet?” He watched as the other man's face twisted into a sneer and he had to suppress his satisfied beam.

 

“Seems like the sort of thing a fellow would regret, don't you think?” He asked, clearly trying his best to talk some sort of sens into the dark boy and Simon would have none of that.

 

“I think it's adorable. He likes to pretend he's not a romantic, but truthfully, I think he's about as sappy as it gets underneath that hard exterior. Besides, I think tattoos are beautiful form of art work and they make him look so _handsome_. I had always wanted a tattoo, you know.” His ex-fiance blinked, looking taken aback.

 

“You never expressed that desire when we were together.” Simon had to physically restrain himself from letting his face twist into a sneer, because he _had_ expressed that desire on multiple occasions and had always been shot down, had always been told that he would look “trashy,” that he would regret it later on in life and like an obedient fool, Simon had listened. Instead he shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his smile fall.

 

“There are a lot of things I never expressed when I was with you.” A cruel part of him hoped those words stung, hoped that maybe the conversation would drop and they would go their separate ways. Unfortunately, the universe could not be so kind. Instead, the man in front of him scoffed, throwing his hands on his hips in a way that made Simon scrunch his face in disgust.

 

“What? Like your desire to sleep with other men?” The words rung in his ears, loud and angry and reminding him of everything he did wrong when they were together. A part of him, an angry, vindictive side that the dark boy tried not to let show, wanted to spit cruel words back in his face, to start a fight and leave him an unstable, upset mess. But he knew that deep down, he could never do that too him. Not again. Instead, he cast his gaze to the floor, dropping his arms as he let out a loud exhale of breath.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” He glanced back up at the man standing in front of him, a man he knew less than a stranger and began to wonder what it was about this person that intimidated him so much over the years they were together. Why hadn't he stood up for himself and ended the relationship sooner? This person in front of him was no more than a child, a spoilt brat used to getting its way. “I'm sorry about they way things ended between us, I really am, but I'm not going to apologize for my choices. Roger makes me happy and I love him dearly.” He watched that boring, generic face erupt in a rage filled flush, his nostrils flaring in a rather unattractive manner and he chest puffed out awkwardly. Simon had to suppress his giggles at how ridiculous the display was.

 

“Then why did you come here, hm? To humiliate me?” The dark boy had to will himself to not react too strongly because that would be playing into his trap, and frankly, those day were beyond over. Instead, he quirked a brow, lips pursing in an almost questioning expression as he searched his ex-fiance's face for any sense of satire.

 

“My apologies for taking you away from your very busy schedule by utilizing my right to shop at a public supermarket.” He said, watching the other man's chest deflate as a realization dawned in his eyes that for once, he would not be winning. “And need I remind you,” Simon continued, suddenly feeling bold and perhaps a bit sassy as he tilted his chin toward the ceiling. It was bizarre for him to act in such a way, usually being a quiet and reserved sort of person that avoided confrontation like the plague. “That you were the one who approached _me_? And, might I add, that if you're only intention was to pick a fight and make me feel like garbage -just like every single day of our relationship- it's not working. I'm a stronger person than I was with and you no longer hold power over, so please do me a favour and don't speak to me anymore because as far as I'm concerned, we're no more than strangers.” And with that remark, Simon turned on his heel and left, not bothering to hear the other man's reply.

 

He grinned to himself, his heart hammering rapidly in his chest. He had finally found closure, after so many months of a experiencing a burning guilt, he had finally rectified the situation to the best of his abilities. Things had not been left alone in a vain effort of avoiding conflict, but rather confronted and dealt with.

 

When he got home, Roger was awake and sitting on the couch -a much more sophisticated piece of furniture than the one he had once possessed, covered with beige suede that was nothing but gentle and soft to the touch. He had the television remote in his hand and was mindlessly flipping through channels. Their tele was new too, nothing particularly special, but much better than the old, grainy monstrosity that used to take up Roger's flat. Simon grinned, throwing his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders and planting a kiss to his cheek.

 

“You'll never guess who I ran into at the store today.” He murmured in his lover's ear, making the other man grin and quirk a brow.

 

“Oh?” He questioned, making the smaller boy giggle and pull him in for a proper kiss, long and sweet and filled with familiarity and adoration.

 

“I'm so glad I chose you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't find a good place to write it in, but Simon's tattoo is a large piece covering his back. It's angel wings with flowers growing through the feathers.


End file.
